


how to keep your cool

by alicialeila



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Gang Violence, Gangs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Past Gang Leader Mikoto, Past Relationship(s), Therapist Totsuka, Therapy, Threats of Violence, therapy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:27:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22706188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicialeila/pseuds/alicialeila
Summary: Mikoto gets more than he bargains for when he’s forced to complete court-mandated anger management sessions. He finds himself strangely drawn to his therapist, who is nothing like he'd expected. When his past comes back to haunt him, in more ways than one, it seems more impossible than ever for Mikoto to keep his cool.
Relationships: Suoh Mikoto/Totsuka Tatara
Comments: 47
Kudos: 112





	1. understanding anger

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Totsuka!
> 
> This was my nanowrimo project, which obviously wasn't finished in November, so I thought Totsuka's birthday/Valentine's Day would be a good time to start posting.
> 
> A disclaimer: I think I've said this for every AU I've written, but this is meant to be light-hearted and fun, and fictional, and not an accurate/realistic representation of therapy (or of gangs, for that matter). The story is pretty light and won't be getting into anything heavy mental health-wise, if that's a concern.
> 
> I don't have an update schedule planned but the next chapter is pretty much done, so I can be persuaded to post it in a few days if that's something people want :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy! <3
> 
> p.s. the chapter names come from chapter titles from the 'anger management for dummies' book ;)

Mikoto sits on an ugly beige chair, leg bouncing impatiently, trying to think about anything but how much he doesn’t want to be here. His eyes roam the small waiting room absently, from the garish floral wallpaper to the obviously fake potted plants, then over to the plain-looking middle aged woman at the front desk. She meets his eyes for a moment, and then jerks her head away, avoiding his gaze.

When he’d approached the woman, after a short, rickety elevator ride up to the office on the third floor, she had looked up at him and, taking in his imposing figure, his bright red hair, and the scowl on his face, had paled. “Can I help you?” she’d asked meekly, her voice wavering at the end.

“I have an appointment at 3:00,” Mikoto had said. “Suoh Mikoto.”

The woman had paused at his name. Swallowing nervously, she’d typed something on her ancient keyboard, her long nails clacking noisily, and then nodded. “H-have a seat, Suoh-san,” she’d managed, gesturing to the arrangement of worn sofas and armchairs that made up the waiting room. “Totsuka-kun will come get you when he’s ready for you.” Her brittle smile had been polite but tense, and she’d avoided eye contact, gaze returning immediately to her computer screen. Mikoto had walked away without another word, choosing a seat in the mostly empty waiting room.

He glances at the only other person there, a man who’s probably a few years older than he is, maybe in his mid-thirties. The guy is staring at his knee, picking absently at a loose thread on his jeans, and hasn’t even so much as glanced up since Mikoto sat down. Mikoto wonders if the guy wants to be here, or if he, like Mikoto, hadn’t had a choice.

Mikoto slumps down further into his chair and stretches out his long legs. He had debated not even coming, but Kusanagi, ever the practical thinker, had warned him about not showing up. “You’ll probably hate it,” Kusanagi had agreed, “but not going will just make things worse. So try to make the best of it, I guess.” He’d sounded far too amused for Mikoto’s liking.

“I’d rather go to jail,” Mikoto had grumbled in response.

He snaps out of his daze as a door creaks open and a woman emerges, neatly dressed in a navy blue suit, her hair tied back into a simple bun. She approaches the woman at the desk with a friendly smile, and the receptionist hands her a file and whispers something urgently. The woman turns, eyes flicking to Mikoto, and then turns back to whisper something to the receptionist in response. Mikoto tenses, silently praying that he’s not about to be summoned by this woman, who seems scandalized by the fact that he’s even sitting in their office. Half of a conversation with him would probably have her clutching her pearls.

“Takigawa-san?” she calls instead, and the man sitting in the waiting room with Mikoto finally looks up, expression almost relieved. The woman smiles politely as he gets up to join her, and then she leads him through the door she’d just come through.

Mikoto relaxes, now that he’s alone in the room. He feels the receptionist watching him from her desk, but when he looks over at her, she looks pointedly away. Again.

Mikoto rolls his eyes.

Sighing, he pulls his lighter out of his jeans pocket, just to have something to do, and flips it open, then closed, then open, then closed, ignoring the panicked look of the receptionist, who probably thinks Mikoto is about to burn the place down, until another door opens, and this time a young man enters the waiting room from an office. And he is young, Mikoto thinks, younger than he is, at the very least, dressed almost casually in dark jeans and a white button-up shirt. Between his age and casual dress, Mikoto would have assumed that he was a patient here, except that just like the woman before him, he stops to speak with the receptionist. He smiles brightly at her, and she gives him a weak smile in return, along with a folder. He glances down at it and then turns that bright smile on Mikoto. “Suoh Mikoto-san?” he calls. Mikoto raises an eyebrow, a deep suspicion blooming inside him that he’s about to entrust his future to a _kid._ “You can come with me,” the guy says.

Lazily, Mikoto rises from the chair to his full height, which is considerably taller than the young man.

The guy’s eyes widen in surprise for a moment when Mikoto stands in front of him, his gaze raking up Mikoto’s body before finally settling on his eyes. Mikoto wonders if he’s being assessed, but the guy just smiles up at him, and it’s not the polite, detached smile the pantsuit lady had given her patient, but something a little warmer. “I’m Totsuka Tatara,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you.” He sticks out a hand, and after staring at it for a moment, Mikoto shakes it awkwardly. “Come on this way.”

Mikoto follows him into a small office, and Totsuka closes the door. The office isn’t anything special; there’s a big old desk in one corner of the room, books and a laptop computer scattered on it. There are some framed papers on the wall, too, probably certifying Totsuka to do whatever it is he’s about to do. And there’s another name on some of the papers, but Mikoto can’t quite make it out from where he’s standing. 

“Have a seat,” Totsuka says, gesturing to a small, worn couch that sits by the window. After a moment, Mikoto sits, and Totsuka walks over to fiddle with an electric kettle that sits on a small table, beside a coffee machine and mini-fridge. “Would you like something to drink?” he asks. “Tea? Coffee? Water?”

“No,” Mikoto says, watching Totsuka suspiciously. He’d imagined he’d be dealing with someone a little more like the woman from before, stern-looking and dressed in a boring pantsuit, or perhaps an old man in a turtleneck and rounded spectacles like in an old TV movie. But Totsuka seems normal, like any other twenty-something Mikoto sees every night at the bar. As he turns, Mikoto notices the gleam of a piercing on Totsuka’s ear, sparkling in the same shade of gold as Totsuka’s hair.

“Okay, just a sec.” Totsuka pours himself a mug of boiling water and grabs a pad of paper off the desk before settling into the armchair across from the couch. The paper sits atop the folder the receptionist had given Totsuka, which probably contains an itemized list of all the bad things Mikoto’s done, recently and in his fairly colorful past. “So,” Totsuka says, setting his mug down on a small side table, his tone shifting into something professional but no less friendly. “I know that these are court-mandated sessions, and it might be a bit uncomfortable. But even so, I’d like to help you in any way I can, if you’re open to it. Together, I think we can help you develop some tools to deal with your anger in a more healthy and productive way.”

Mikoto just stares at him, crossing his arms over his chest. It’s obviously a spiel, even if Totsuka is convincing.

Totsuka smiles, clearly not discouraged by Mikoto’s silence. “Have you ever been to therapy before?”

Mikoto snorts derisively. “Do I seem like someone who’s been to therapy?”

Totsuka chuckles. “Well, I’ve seen every kind of person you can imagine on that couch, but I take it you haven’t, then.”

Mikoto looks at him skeptically. Every kind of person? How much experience can this guy have at his age?

Reading his expression, Totsuka tilts his head. “Do you have any questions or concerns, before we begin?”

“How old are you?” It sounds almost like an accusation. He doesn’t mean to say it, because now it sounds like he’s interested in starting some kind of _conversation_ instead of just sitting here sullenly.

“I’m 27,” Totsuka says easily. “I’ve been working at this practice since I completed my internship here during grad school.” Mikoto grunts in response, still unimpressed. He’d actually thought he was younger than that, but it’s not like Totsuka has any reason to lie about it. “Does it bother you, that I’m younger than you?” 

_Not really,_ he wants to say, but Totsuka’s words remind him that Totsuka already knows things about him, not just his age or zodiac sign, but the bad things, too. “I don’t care,” Mikoto replies shortly. “I just want to get this over with.”

Totsuka nods. “I get that,” he says easily, unfazed by Mikoto’s brusque tone. “I think we should start by talking about why you’re here.” 

“You already know why I’m here. I’m sure you’ve read the police report.” Mikoto eyes the folder on Totsuka’s lap. “It’s in there, isn’t it?”

“I have read it,” Totsuka replies. “It was very, uh, detailed.” There’s something almost teasing in his tone, like he’d found the police report funny, and Mikoto hates that it makes him want to smile, because knowing who wrote it, he can only imagine what kinds of things it says about him. “But that was written by someone else,” Totsuka continues. “I’d still like to hear about it from you, if you’re willing to talk about it.”

Mikoto frowns. “Why? You think my story will be different? Like there was some kind of misunderstanding or something?” He eyes Totsuka distrustfully. “If you’ve read it, then you know who I am.”

Totsuka hums, opening the cursed folder, eyes scanning over the first document in the pile. “The Red King,” he reads. “Is that what they call you?” Mikoto scowls. “We can talk about that if you want to, though I should warn you that there are some exceptions to the whole doctor-patient confidentiality thing.” Totsuka’s lips twitch, almost like he’s suppressing a smile.

Annoyed, Mikoto looks out the window. “It’s a stupid name,” he says. “And nobody calls me that anymore.” He feels like he’s being watched, being studied, and it unsettles him. If this is what therapy is going to be like, he thinks, he hates it already.

“Why is that?” Totsuka asks.

Mikoto knows that if he wanted to, he could sit here in silence. It’s not like Totsuka can force him to talk, and all Mikoto needs to provide the court are signed timesheets proving that he’s attended his sessions. Mikoto isn’t much of a talker to start with, and he’d been fully prepared to remain close-lipped and stare his therapist down for the entire hour. But he hadn’t expected someone like Totsuka, and maybe it’s because he’s caught so off guard, or because Totsuka has some kind of fucking magical therapy powers, but Mikoto finds himself opening his mouth to answer. “‘Cause I’m not a king or boss or anyone’s goddamn babysitter,” he says shortly.

Once upon a time, Mikoto had been young and strong and bored, and he’d accepted a number of shady jobs from shady people in the city’s underbelly, sometimes as a bodyguard, sometimes shaking down people who owed someone money. For Mikoto, it hadn’t been about the cash, or about climbing the ranks, or starting his own crew; he had always just liked a good fight. As long as everyone understood that he wasn’t under anyone’s thumb, it had mostly worked out. But eventually, people started demanding things of him, like just because he was strong he had to be a leader. He’d never asked to be ‘The Red King,’ but people followed him anyway.

He was tired of people using his name in order to use his power. 

He was tired of getting dragged into petty squabbles he cared nothing about. 

He rejected his crown.

“So what do you do now, then?” Totsuka asks, like it’s completely normal that Mikoto’s employment history comprises of being the most feared man in the city.

“My friend owns a bar. I work there.” ‘Work’ is probably a very generous term. Really, Mikoto is just around to throw out the more rowdy customers. If he’s lucky, he’ll get to be in the occasional barfight, usually with assholes who won’t leave and think they can take him. 

“And it’s been that easy, leaving your old… position?” Totsuka asks.

Mikoto shrugs. It had been easy enough to stay out of the streets, and make it clear to people that they weren’t welcome in Homra. He had gained somewhat of a reputation, after all, and his absence had let other people scramble for pieces of power. 

But then he thinks of the way that, just days ago, Munakata had smirked at him, taunting him with his old nickname. 

“Some people can’t let shit stay in the past,” he mutters.

“What do you mean by that?” Totsuka prompts. 

“The cop who wrote that report, we don’t exactly get along.” It’s such an understatement that it’s almost untruthful.

“Ah,” Totsuka says with interest. “You have a history?”

“I guess.”

Munakata Reisi is a police captain now, but when Mikoto had first met him, it had been years ago, when Mikoto was just barely out of his teens and had a reputation for never losing a fight. Munakata was a rookie cop, and he’d made it his mission to purge the neighborhood of what he’d called the ‘dirty hoodlums,’ which included Mikoto and the people he sometimes associated with.

“So what happened that day?” Totsuka asks.

Mikoto sighs. “I was sitting on a park bench, having a smoke, minding my own business. Munakata shows up, because he always manages to pop out of nowhere, just to piss me off, and says it’s a no-smoking zone. He tells me to put it out or he’d have to give me a fine.” He snorts at the memory. “I told him to fuck off, and then… Well, you know the rest.”

Totsuka nods, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “And then there was a physical altercation.” 

“Yeah.” In Mikoto’s opinion, that was an unnecessarily polite way of saying he took a swing at a cop.

“So why didn’t you put out the cigarette? If it was a no-smoking zone.”

Mikoto tsks. “Munakata thinks he can tell me what to do, and I hate that. He’s a smug bastard.”

“He’s a police officer,” Totsuka says, a little amused. “It’s his job to enforce the rules.” Mikoto scoffs, and Totsuka tilts his head. “Do you think if it had been someone else smoking there, he would have let it go?”

“I don’t know,” he replies, and then he pauses. “No. That bastard is obsessed with following the rules. But…”  
  
“But?”

“He calls me a thug, but it’s him who likes to pick fights. He enjoys it, I think. Pissing me off.”

Totsuka hums. “Did you enjoy it?”

Mikoto makes a face. “Enjoy what?” 

“Fighting Munakata. The physical fight, at least.”

Mikoto considers that. “I don’t know. I just wanted him to shut up.” Frankly, at the time, he hadn’t put much more thought into it than that. But it would be a lie to say that there wasn’t something satisfying about letting loose, or the adrenaline that came with it. Just because he’s not out in the streets anymore, it’s not like he’s changed _that_ much.

Totsuka’s watching him, and Mikoto can’t tell what he’s thinking. If he believes Mikoto, if he’s judging him. Mikoto shifts in his seat, uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

“Then, do you think it was a reasonable reaction to the situation, to have started a fight?”

Mikoto scoffs. _Reasonable._ He’s not sure anyone would call him ‘reasonable,’ if they knew him. “That wasn’t really on my mind at the time, but probably not.” At least, not by the way Kusanagi had cursed at him over the phone when Mikoto had called him from the police station.

Totsuka writes something down for the first time in their session, and Mikoto glares at the notepad like he can burn the writing away.

“Would you say you’re usually impulsive?” Totsuka asks.

“I don’t know.” _Probably._

Totsuka nods. “Well, let me ask you this, then. How do you usually blow off steam?”

“Huh?”

“What do you do when you’re stressed?” Totsuka questions. “Go to the gym? Do yoga? Listen to music? Do you have any hobbies?”

Mikoto looks at him in disgust. “Do I seem like the kind of person who does _yoga?”_

Totsuka chuckles. “Well, it’s a pretty popular thing nowadays. I just mean that maybe you should think about finding something in your life to help you work off your stress, or your anger.” The “instead of starting fights with police captains” goes unsaid.

“I can deal with my own shit just fine,” Mikoto says. He’s expecting Totsuka to disagree with him, say something like, _You wouldn’t be here if you could,_ but Totsuka just continues watching him intently, giving nothing away.

“Do _you_ think you have problems managing your anger? Let’s ignore the police reports, and the court order.” 

Mikoto doesn’t answer, looking pointedly away.

There’s silence as Totsuka gives him time to answer, but when he doesn’t, Totsuka just takes down a few notes and then changes topics. “So what happened after the fight with Munakata?”

Mikoto frowns. “Well, since I tried to beat the shit out of a cop, he took me to his station.”

Mikoto had sat in a tiny jail cell, seething with anger, as police officers gaped at him. His name still held weight in the underworld of Shizume City, and for some of the police officers who remembered him, and he’d watched people peering into his cell like he was some kind of caged lion.

“I called Kusa… I called someone, and he came to bail me out.”

Totsuka nods. “Is he a friend? The one who owns the bar?” 

“Yeah,” he replies, and then, after a moment, he adds, “Kusanagi.” He’s not sure why. It’s stupid, but he feels like he’s given something away.

“I see. Have you been friends long?” 

“Since high school, I guess.”

Back then, Kusanagi Izumo had been one of two people who weren’t afraid to approach Mikoto. He’d teased him, scolded him for sleeping on a school bench during class hours, and called him by his given name. He’d been two years above Mikoto, and had never once looked at Mikoto like he was the thug that all of Mikoto’s classmates saw when they looked at him.

Totsuka smiles. “That’s a long time. Is he usually the one you go to for help?”

Mikoto grimaces at the phrasing. “He’s always been good at this kind of shit. Like, talking to people and smoothing things over.” Kusanagi’s uncle had been friends with people of a certain influence, and they had become Kusanagi’s friends. 

Totsuka grins, a little wry, and it’s not the kind of look Mikoto’d expect a therapist to have when discussing his violent outbursts or Kusanagi’s expertise in skirting the law. “I think that’s a pretty good deal, then, a few hours of court-mandated counselling,” Totsuka says. 

Mikoto wants to say that it’s more than a _few_ hours, but he just grunts. “At least I didn’t have to pay the smoking fine,” he says, a little triumphant.

Totsuka chuckles. “So Kusanagi is a longtime friend. Are you close with your family?”  
  
“Don’t got any,” he says shortly.

Totsuka nods, expression neutral. “Any other relationships? What about a partner?”

“No,” he says, tone even more brusque, but Totsuka still doesn’t react, simply jotting down a few more notes. “How much time left?”

Totsuka looks at his phone. “Not much, just a few minutes.” Mikoto sighs in relief. “Is there anything else you want to talk about before you go? Any questions?”

Mikoto looks at Totsuka, with his bright, young eyes, and is struck again by how unexpected he is, not some stuffy, old suit frowning at his every word. “Why did you get stuck with my case?” he asks. “Or did you volunteer?”

Totsuka raises his eyebrows, surprised by the question. “Well, the court contacted me since I work a lot with young people who struggle with anger and aggression.” Reflexively, Mikoto wants to protest being lumped into that category, but based on what Totsuka’s heard about him, he can’t really argue. “I actually do group therapy sessions on Thursday evenings, if that’s something you’d be interested in. It would definitely count towards your hours.”

“Talking to one person is enough, thanks,” Mikoto says. “So you deal with the problem children and the hotheads? Not sure your colleagues appreciate that, from the way they were looking at me.”

Mikoto expects Totsuka to laugh or something, but he looks at Mikoto like he’s said something really interesting. Then he smiles, and it’s a little... sweet. 

Mikoto has to look away.

He clenches his hands into fists. “Are we done?”

Totsuka looks down at his phone screen again. “Just about,” he says. He stands, and so Mikoto stands, too. “So I’ll see you at the same time next week.”

He walks Mikoto to the front desk, and then, in front of the receptionist and the two women sitting idly in the waiting room, he says, “It was very nice to meet you Suoh-san.” He’s beaming up at Mikoto, and then he turns the force of that smile to the receptionist, who’s watching their exchange nervously. 

The woman flushes, but then she stammers, “We’ll… I’ll call you next week to confirm your next appointment, Suoh-san.” 

Totsuka grins, and it looks a little self-satisfied. “Here’s my information, in case you need to contact me,” he says, handing Mikoto a small card. “See you next week.”

Mikoto waves a hand dismissively, and then walks away without a backwards glance. He takes the stairs down at a slow, lazy pace, and takes a deep breath in relief when he makes it outside. He pats his jeans pockets for his pack of cigarettes and frowns when there’s nothing there.

“Looking for these?” a voice calls from the doorway. Totsuka’s peeking out, waving Mikoto’s cigarettes. “They were on the couch.” He steps out of the doorway to hand them to Mikoto.

“Thanks,” Mikoto says, even though he’s not sure why Totsuka would bother to take the time to bring them down. They’re just cigarettes. 

Totsuka’s answering smile is just as bright as it had been before, and it sets Mikoto on edge. He waits for Totsuka to say something, but Totsuka just watches him. Hesitating, Mikoto pushes a cigarette between his lips. “You on a break or something?” he asks around the cigarette, and then offers the pack to Totsuka, in case that’s what he’s angling for.

“Huh?” Totsuka stares at the proffered cigarettes in confusion. “Oh, no, sorry. Just zoned out for a second there.” He steps back into the building, giving Mikoto one last grin. “See you next week!” And then he’s gone, leaving Mikoto to finish his cigarette in silence.

  
  
  
  


As soon as Mikoto pushes through the doors of Homra, Kusanagi spots him and grins evilly. He’s standing at his usual spot behind the bar, drying glasses, and when Mikoto walks in, he puts down the glass in his hand. “Welcome back, Mikoto,” he practically sings. “Did you get your head shrunk?”

“Ha ha,” Mikoto says dryly. “Give me a beer.” Mikoto sits down on the comfortable leather couch that had become his favorite napping spot, heavy exhaustion setting in.

“I’m not your butler,” Kusanagi mutters. “Or your wife.” But then he considers Mikoto, and maybe sensing what kind of day he’s had, he grabs a beer and sets it in front of Mikoto. “One time thing,” he says.

Mikoto takes a long pull.

“So how was it?” Kusanagi asks, sitting beside him. “Are you on your way to being a model of mental health?”

Mikoto fixes him a glare. “How do you think it went? I just spent an hour being forced to talk to a complete stranger.”

Kusanagi cackles. “Your poor shrink, having to dig around in there.” He knocks Mikoto on the head. “What were they like? Was it a _lady?”_ He wiggles his eyebrows.

“It was a guy,” Mikoto says.

Kusanagi hmphs, probably losing some interest now that he knows there’s no pretty woman involved. “You got a letter, by the way,” he says, gesturing to an envelope sitting on the coffee table. “Well, it was with the bar mail, but addressed to you.”

Mikoto raises a brow, examining the letter. His name is written in fairly nondescript handwriting, and there’s no return address. He rips open the envelope and unfolds the one piece of paper inside. 

_November 16_

“What’s it say?” Kusanagi asks, and Mikoto slides the paper to him to read for himself. “Well, that’s ominous.” He flips the paper over, as if there might be more information on the back. “Who did you piss off now? Not another cop, I hope. I’ve already called in too many favors.”

“Someone must be fucking with me,” Mikoto says. He snags the letter from Kusanagi and balls it up, tossing it back onto the coffee table. 

“Weird,” Kusanagi says, eyeing the crumpled paper thoughtfully.

The front door jangles as it opens when someone walks in. “Good afternoon, Mikoto-san, Kusanagi-san,” Kamamoto Rikio calls out politely, pulling down the hood of his baggy sweater and removing his large sunglasses now that he’s inside. His imposing frame is only mildly less intimidating like this, though anyone who actually knows Kamamoto would know that the only thing that’s intimidating about him is how kind he is.

“Afternoon,” Mikoto replies, fighting a yawn.

“Afternoon,” Kusanagi echoes. “Hey, Kamamoto, have you noticed anyone _unusual_ lately around the bar?”

“Unusual?” Kamamoto looks thoughtful, but then he must understand Kusanagi’s meaning, because he looks serious. “No, nothing out of the ordinary, but I’ll keep an eye out.”  
  
“Thanks,” Kusanagi says.

Kamamoto’s been working at Homra for as long as Kusanagi’s been running it, even before he was old enough to serve drinks. When Kamamoto’s father, an acquaintance of Kusanagi’s uncle, introduced him to Kusanagi, he probably hadn’t imagined he’d be doing _other_ kind of jobs for Mikoto. But when Mikoto quit the life, and his power-hungry entourage fell away, Kamamoto was the only one who stayed, and had dutifully asked Kusanagi if he could still work at Homra. 

Mikoto yawns loudly, no longer able to fight the pull of a nice, long nap in his bed. “I’ll see you later,” he says to them.

“Uh-huh.” Kusanagi gives Mikoto a side-eye that signals he knows Mikoto’s about to take a long nap, and he won’t see him for hours.

Mikoto makes his way up to his apartment, which sits above Homra. Really, it should be Kusanagi who lives here, but when Kusanagi had taken over the place, he already had an apartment he loved. It was Mikoto who needed a fresh start, a place away from where everyone knew him as the Red King who had rejected his crown. 

The place is more than big enough for him, and sparsely furnished, which is just fine to him. He’s never needed much stuff.

He slumps into his favorite armchair and pulls out a cigarette. After a smoke, he lets himself doze, not once thinking of the crumpled piece of paper he’d left downstairs.

  
  


🔥

  
  


November 16th falls a few weeks later, on a Saturday, and Mikoto hasn’t thought about the letter or ominous date since. Saturday night finds him at his usual spot by the bar, keeping an eye on a table of drunk men who look like they might start making trouble, especially as one starts hollering at the table of young women beside them.

In Mikoto’s peripheral vision, he sees someone take the empty seat next to his. The man has messy bleach-blond hair, and Mikoto can see a tattoo sleeve peeking out from under his long-sleeve shirt. Vaguely, Mikoto thinks the guy is kind of familiar, but Mikoto can’t quite place him, and he doesn’t care enough to try.

The man orders a glass of whiskey from Kusanagi, who doesn’t seem to take a second glance at the guy, and he downs it one go. He turns to Mikoto. “Suoh Mikoto,” he says. “Don’t remember me, huh?”

Mikoto glances at him, expression blank. “Should I?”

The man smiles, and it’s ugly and a little unhinged. “I’m offended,” he says. “I can’t believe you’d forget your old pal Kurayama.”

Mikoto narrows his eyes, and he’s suddenly jerked back into another time. Kurayama Mitsuha was a piece of shit who was always starting to start trouble with Mikoto, jealous of Mikoto’s following. They’d fought a lot in their teens, and Mikoto had to admit that it was rare for him to find someone whose strength was as closely matched to his as Kurayama’s had been.

“I thought you were dead,” Mikoto says. The past seven or eight years had not been kind to Kurayama, who looked worn and even more deranged than he had as a teenager.

Kurayama clenches his hand into a fist, balling up the napkin he’d been holding. “Lots of people did.” That included the police, who had interviewed Mikoto several times after Kurayama’s disappearance, certain that he might have been involved somehow. “I left town for a while, spent some time in prison,” he says casually, like he’s describing his summer vacation. “The whole time I was in there, though, I was thinking about you, and how I was gonna take back what’s mine.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Your crown,” Kurayama says, with a twisted grin.

“Are you stupid?” Mikoto scoffs. “Does it look like I’m still in that shit? There’s nothing for you to take.”

“Ha! Nothing for me to take? I lost everything, and you have all this,” Kurayama says, looking around the bar. “You don’t get to decide to leave. You owe me a rematch.” 

The last time they’d fought, Mikoto had won handedly, and told Kurayama to stay away from him and his people. Kurayama had listened, disappearing, and Mikoto had assumed he’d left town to lick his wounds and salvage the pieces of his pride. He should have known this stupid bastard would be the type to seek revenge, even after nearly a decade.

“I don’t owe you shit,” Mikoto says. “What, do you want me to drag you outside so we can fight, like old times?”

“Nah,” he says. “I think I need to set you on fire first, Suoh Mikoto. I want you to remember you’re still the same as me, even if you pretend you’re not.” Kurayama grins again, and this time it’s almost pleased. He gets up and lays a crumpled bill on the bar, beside his empty glass. “This is going to be fun. I’ll see you around, Suoh.”

“You better not,” Mikoto growls.

Kurayama laughs, a dry, unpleasant sound, and then he’s leaving Homra, Mikoto watching him go with a nasty twist in his gut. He hears that obnoxious laughter coming from the table of drunk guys, and it sends hot pricks of irritation up his spine. When he looks over, one of them is standing uncomfortably close to one of the women at the neighboring table, grinning lewdly at her. The girls are stiff and uncomfortable, averting their eyes from the man as if that’ll make him go away. 

Mikoto stomps over to the table of men and grabs the one standing by his collar. “Shut up and leave them alone or I’ll drag you out of here myself,” he says into the man’s ear, before shoving him roughly into his chair. He’s a little disappointed when the man doesn’t try to fight back, his alcohol-hazy eyes widening in fear as he straightens in his chair like a scolded schoolboy. Mikoto glares at the entire table of men, and they quiet down.

As Mikoto walks back to his spot at the bar, he can feel the eyes of the entire place on him. “What was that about?” Kusanagi asks, frowning at Mikoto reproachfully. 

“Those guys are making trouble.”

“Right,” Kusanagi says knowingly, and in his head, he hears Totsuka’s soft voice, asking wryly, _“Do you think you have anger problems?”_

“Fuck,” Mikoto mutters to himself.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. handling anger from the past

As the next three weeks pass, things start to feel almost normal again. Mikoto doesn’t tell Kusanagi about their visitor, because, frankly, that asshole isn’t worth their time, and when Kurayama doesn’t show his face, Mikoto mostly forgets about it. He goes to his sessions, and Totsuka asks him too many questions. Sometimes, they’re about his childhood and his past, and if Mikoto is feeling charitable, he gives short, clipped answers about living with his grandfather, or how he’d made a name for himself as a teenager by fighting men twice his age and size. Sometimes, Totsuka asks him about his plans for the future, and then Mikoto doesn’t answer, because he’s never been one to have _dreams_ and _goals_ or whatever _._ Totsuka always takes it in stride when Mikoto goes silent, or answers as rudely as possible, and the kindness in his eyes never wavers. Mikoto would find his patience impressive if it wasn’t being used against him on a weekly basis. 

Mostly, though, Totsuka tries to get Mikoto to be quote-unquote ‘ _mindful’_ about his emotions-- what makes him angry and when, and what his instinctive responses are. “Some people find it helpful to keep an anger journal,” Totsuka says innocently one day, a smile pulling at his lips, and Mikoto stares at him, unimpressed, trying to figure out if he’s fucking with him or not.

He mostly stops dreading going to his sessions with Totsuka, and they just become a part of his routine. Sitting at the bar early one Friday night, Mikoto can’t help but think that he should hate therapy more than he does, especially considering he had once claimed that he’d rather have gone to jail.

“What are you thinking about so hard over here?” Kusanagi asks, eyeing him suspiciously. 

“What? Nothing.” He waves Kusanagi off. “Go make drinks or whatever you do.”

Kusanagi’s still watching him skeptically. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters.

Mikoto watches the bar fill up in the usual Friday night bustle from his spot at the bar with detached interest, until a familiar voice calls out above the hum of the crowd. 

“Hello, Suoh-kun.” 

It’s a voice Mikoto has never expected to hear again, especially not in Homra. Mikoto turns, and it’s not a dream, or a nightmare; Honami is standing in front of him, smiling like it hasn’t been almost eight years since they’ve last seen each other. “May I join you?” she asks, tucking a piece of dark hair behind her ear. Her hair is shorter than it had been the last time Mikoto saw her, now falling above her shoulders-- she’d always worn it long, back then.

“If you want,” Mikoto says eventually, expression controlled even in his surprise.

She sits on the barstool next to him and shrugs off her coat, revealing a plain black blouse and skirt. She’d always been a modest dresser, when she was out of her school uniform. “The place looks great,” she says, looking around. “You’ve done well.”

“Kusanagi has, you mean,” Mikoto corrects. Honami had been to Homra a few times, before Kusanagi had taken over and restyled it in the Western decor he tends to enjoy. “What are you doing here?”

Honami chews her lip nervously. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about--”

“Honami?” Kusanagi calls out, spotting her from the other side of the bar. His eyes are wide as he approaches them. “It’s been so long.”

Honami smiles, and it eases some of the tension out of her. “It’s nice to see you, Kusanagi-kun. Your place is lovely! Congratulations.”

He grins. “Thanks. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Beer,” Mikoto says.

“Oi, I wasn’t talking to you,” Kusanagi scolds.

Honami hesitates. “I… I came to talk to you, Suoh-kun… Can we talk here, or should we go someplace more private?” 

“Here is fine,” Mikoto replies, a dark ball of dread taking shape in his belly.

“Okay,” she says, smiling weakly. “I’ll have a glass of wine, then, Kusanagi-kun. Red.”

“You’ve got it,” Kusanagi says with a wink, sauntering off and leaving the two of them alone in silence.

“So, how have you been?” Honami asks, the brightness in her voice clearly forced. She’d always been incomparably cheerful, and she’s clearly trying to be now, even with the awkward tension that’s building from whatever she wants to say.

“Fine, I guess.” He pulls a cigarette out of the pack in front of him. “You mind?” he asks, reaching for his lighter. Honami had never been a smoker, but she’d never minded before. But that had been years ago.

“Go ahead,” Honami says politely, though she leans slightly away from him. He takes a long drag, and then when he turns to Honami, she’s watching him. “You haven’t changed much, have you?” she says, her smile complicated.

“Guess not.”

The last time they’d seen each other, Honami had been at his old apartment, eight years ago. She’d watched him with a brittle smile and tears in her eyes as he’d told her, as gently as he could, which wasn’t very gently, that whatever was between them was over.

She looks a bit older now, and her hair’s a bit shorter, but she’s the same as always. 

“You either,” he says.

She chuckles, and it’s sad. “Well… That’s not--”

“Your drink, _mademoiselle,”_ Kusanagi drawls, sliding a glass of wine in front of her. Honami laughs at his familiar antics, the tension once again easing somewhat. Kusanagi places Mikoto’s beer in front of him with much less fanfare. He glances between them curiously. “I’ll catch you later, Honami,” he says, and she nods.

She takes a sip of her wine, and then a deep breath. Eyes downcast, focusing on the bartop, she says, “I need to talk to you about something, and I don’t really know… I don’t know how to do this.”

“Okay? Just say it,” Mikoto replies, frowning.

Honami looks up to meet his gaze, and there’s something urgent in her eyes battling with the uncertainty. “I have a daughter,” she says quickly, “and she’s yours.”

Mikoto gapes, the cigarette between his lips dropping onto the bartop in his surprise. With shaking hands, he picks it up and crushes it into the ashtray, perhaps with more force than necessary. “What,” he rasps, “are you talking about?”

Honami’s hands are clasped together tightly. “I only found out I was pregnant after things ended between us,” she says quietly. “We were so young. You were barely even twenty. And you’d already told me what kind of life you had, that you didn’t want any attachments…” She looks at him, almost defiantly. “I made the decision, then, not to give you any.”

The ball of dread that had been pulsing in his stomach has erupted into something dark and fiery, and he tries to breathe around it. “Why are you telling me this now? It’s been years.”

“Because she’s… She’s getting older now, and she’s so smart. She’s been asking about you, and I figured that I… Well, I owe it to her, to at least talk to you about it, to see if…”

“To see if what?” he asks flatly. 

Honami takes a shaky breath. “To see if you want to meet her, I guess, is where we’d start.”

“Start,” Mikoto repeats incredulously. 

“I don’t want anything from you, Suoh-kun. I just… You have a daughter, and she would like to meet you. I’m just asking if that’s something you might want, too.”

 _No,_ his mind shouts immediately. But he can’t find the words, so he says nothing, and the silence stretches out between them, thick and uncomfortable.

Honami gets up from her seat, even though her glass is still half full. She clutches her coat to her chest like a lifeline. “I’m sure this is a lot for you, Suoh-kun,” she says, voice wobbling. She leans in, and Mikoto tenses because he thinks she’s going to do something ridiculous like hug him, or kiss him on the cheek. But she merely slides a piece of paper to him. “Please call me, once you’ve thought it over.”

Another business card, Mikoto thinks. It’s like he’s starting a freaking collection. When he’s finally able to look up at Honami, her eyes are wet and she’s smiling sadly, like she can already tell he’s not going to use it. Mikoto wonders why she bothered to come, when he’s always leaving her in tears. 

She was right; he hasn’t changed.

“It was good to see you.” She takes a few steps and stops. “Her name is Anna, by the way,” she says quietly, and then she’s gone.

Mikoto’s not sure how much time passes between Honami’s departure and the moment Kusanagi finds him. Kusanagi’s saying something, but Mikoto’s head is heavy and swollen and his ears are ringing and he can’t hear a word.

Kusanagi grips his shoulder, hard, and Mikoto’s head clears a little. “Mikoto?” Kusanagi says, voice laced with concern.

Mikoto reaches for his beer, but each sip tastes sour on his tongue, and the acid rolls violently in his belly. He puts a hand over his mouth, as if he can will away the nausea. 

“Mikoto?” Kusanagi says again, and Mikoto just shakes his head. “Kamamoto, take over for a bit, will you? We’re going upstairs.”

“Of course, Kusanagi-san!” Kamamoto says dutifully. 

“Come on, Mikoto,” Kusanagi says, tugging at his arm.

Once Kusanagi herds him up into his apartment, Mikoto heads directly to his sparsely-stocked bar and searches for his favorite whiskey, hoping the burn will settle better in his stomach than the beer had.

“Mikoto, what’s going on?” Kusanagi asks. “What happened with Honami?” Mikoto says nothing as he pours himself a drink and downs it in one go. “Oi, Mikoto,” Kusanagi says sharply. Mikoto pours himself another glass, and then one for Kusanagi. He hands it to him with an unsteady hand.

Once settled into his armchair, he looks up at the ceiling. “Honami has a kid,” he says, and Kusanagi just stares at him blankly. “A seven-year-old kid,” he clarifies.

It takes a moment, but understanding washes over Kusanagi and his eyes widen in shock. “Holy shit, Mikoto,” he breathes. “Are you… Is she sure that… you know, it’s yours?”

Lots of things had passed through his mind, but that Honami would lie about something like this, or that she’d even approach Mikoto if she wasn’t sure, wasn’t one of them. “Yeah,” he says.

“Holy shit, Mikoto,” Kusanagi says again. He sits down on the couch across from Mikoto, taking a gulp of his drink. “So what did Honami say?”

“She wants me to meet her.” 

“Her… You mean… She’s a…”

“Yeah.”

Kusanagi watches him for a moment. “So what are you going to do?” he asks quietly.

Mikoto closes his eyes. “Nothing.” The brat might be disappointed or whatever, but she’d be much better off in the long run, and so would Honami. He half expects Kusanagi to try to convince him otherwise, but just lets out a sigh.

“I gotta tell you,” Kusanagi says, trying for a light, airy tone. “Out of the two of us, you’re not the one I ever expected this to happen to.”

Mikoto snorts, and it turns into a low laugh.

Kusanagi’s phone chimes, and he swears under his breath. “Sorry, Mikoto, I gotta go back down there. You gonna be okay?”  
  
“I’ll be fine,” he says.

Kusanagi probably doesn’t believe him, what with the way he’s frowning as he puts down his empty glass. “Come back down later,” he says. “Don’t hole yourself up in here, brooding.” 

Mikoto ignores that, because that’s exactly what he wants to do. Still, Kusanagi leaves him alone to contend with the tightness in his chest, and the uncontrollable flames that seem to swell up from his belly, threatening to spill out, when he thinks of Honami and some faceless kid waiting for him to call.

  
  
  


🔥

  
  


Tuesday afternoon finds him on a couch, sitting in silence, under Totsuka’s intense scrutiny. Mikoto had considered not coming, because the only thing he could imagine would make the present situation _worse_ is being forced to talk about it, how he _feels_ about it. But messing with the court stuff by skipping his sessions would probably not help things, and he’s sure that Totsuka wouldn’t let him get away with that for long, anyways.

“Did something happen this week?” Totsuka asks him, and Mikoto stays quiet. It’s not worth denying, because Mikoto’s sure he looks like shit. He hasn’t slept more than a few hours since Honami came to Homra, and he feels restless in a way that he hasn’t for years.

He’s not sure if he’s mad or frustrated or guilty, but whatever it is, it feels like a ticking time bomb inside of him, waiting to detonate.

He bounces his leg anxiously.

This is going to be the longest hour of his life.

Minutes pass, and Mikoto waits for Totsuka to pepper him with more questions, or start talking about something stupid to fill the silence. Or maybe, Mikoto muses, Totsuka will realize that Mikoto’s not in the mood to talk today, and they’ll stare at each other for the whole hour-- Totsuka doesn’t have to know that Mikoto has mostly mastered the art of sleeping with his eyes open, and he could use a nap.

Abruptly, Totsuka rises from his chair and walks over to the window. It squeaks obnoxiously when he opens it, and then the din of the early afternoon city street drifts into the small room. He wheels his desk chair beside the open window, before settling back into his armchair and tilting his head towards the empty chair. “Just don’t activate the sprinklers,” he says, smiling wryly. “Then we’ll both get in trouble.”

Mikoto stares at him, eyebrows drawn in confusion, and it takes him a moment to understand that he’s meant to sit there. He eyes Totsuka suspiciously, but he’s not about to refuse. Slowly, he gets up and walks over to the window, dropping into the chair. He pulls out a cigarette and his lighter from his pocket and lights up, watching the smoke waft outside and break apart in the sky.

When he glances over at Totsuka, Totsuka is looking back, calm and undemanding as ever. There’s something so fucking ironic about the fact that most at peace Mikoto has felt in days has been here, where the court has forced him to be. As Totsuka lets him smoke in silence, Mikoto wonders if this is what therapy’s like for everyone, or if there’s just _something_ about Totsuka.

It’s only when his cigarette is a tiny nub that he opens his mouth to speak, looking out the window instead of directly at Totsuka. “My ex came to see me this week,” he says at length. “I have a kid, I guess.”

“Wow,” Totsuka says quietly. “That must have been a shock.”

Mikoto scoffs. “You think?” 

Totsuka waits in silence again, for Mikoto to say something else. 

Mikoto sighs. “She wants me to meet her.”

“How do you feel about that?”

Mikoto groans internally at the question, even though he’d expected it. It’s kind of a therapy cliche, isn’t it? He doesn’t answer, because he still doesn’t know.

“Have you ever thought about having kids before?” Totsuka asks, switching gears, and Mikoto nearly chokes.

“Me?” he asks incredulously. “The guy who’s here because he literally beat up a cop?”

Totsuka’s watching him closely. “Do you think you’d be a bad father?”

“You’re the shrink,” Mikoto mutters. “What do you think?”

“Well, I guess it’s true that not everyone’s meant to be a parent, or even wants to be,” Totsuka says. “And that’s fine. But parents are human, too. They have flaws, and personal issues., like the rest of us.” Totsuka’s shivering a bit, sitting by an open window in early December, but he doesn’t ask Mikoto to close it.

Mikoto sighs, frustrated, as the fire crawls back up his spine.

“Are you angry?” Totsuka asks.

Mikoto chuckles, humorlessly. “About what?” he asks sarcastically.

“That you have a child? That your ex didn’t tell you about it back then? That she’s telling you now?”

Mikoto avoids the first question altogether, skipping straight to the second. “I wouldn’t have told me back then, either, so no. I don’t blame her for that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wasn’t exactly father material then. I’m still not, obviously, so I don’t get what she wants from me. What she thinks is going to happen.” His tone is sharp, and he _does_ sound mad.

Totsuka nods. “So it’s more that she’s asking you to be involved?”

Mikoto frowns. “It’s not like that’s an unreasonable thing to ask. But she knows me, so she must know she’ll be disappointed. So why would she even ask?”

Totsuka tilts his head. “It sounds like you already know that you won’t meet her. Did you tell her that?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Mikoto thinks of Honami’s sad smile a few nights ago, and eight years ago, when things had ended between them. She’d always been kinder, more patient with him than he’d deserved, and he’s let her down. This is why he didn’t want to _be_ in a relationship, because he didn’t want to owe anything to anyone.

“Honami,” he says finally. “It’s not like she’s ever asked me for anything before, and if I say no…”

“You don’t want to disappoint her?” Totsuka asks, and Mikoto frowns, lets his silence be his agreement. Totsuka nods in understanding. “Sometimes we do things that make us uncomfortable for the people we care about.” Mikoto nearly flinches at the phrasing, and Totsuka notices. “Does that make you uncomfortable? The idea of caring about someone?”

He frowns. He says, slowly, “It feels like a chain around my neck.”

Totsuka hums. “Lots of things in this world tie us down. Friends, loved ones, jobs, _laws.”_ Totsuka says the last one almost teasingly, and Mikoto cracks a smile. Totsuka’s eyes seem to widen at that, but he continues, “But they can bring good things with them, too, can’t they?” 

“So you think I should do it,” Mikoto surmises.

“I didn’t say that,” Totsuka says gently.

Mikoto frowns. “You’re really not going to tell me what you think I should do?”

Totsuka smiles that unbearably kind smile. “I think whatever you decide, you should think about the good, and not just the bad.” He looks down at his watch. “You probably have time to smoke one last one,” he says.

They don’t talk for the rest of the session. Mikoto smokes by the window, and Totsuka gets up to boil the kettle and pour himself a cup of tea.

On the way home, Mikoto stuffs his hands into his coat pocket, fighting the chill of the wind, and he thumbs the piece of paper he’d stuffed in there Friday night.

  
  


🔥

  
  


This time, when Honami shows up at Homra, Mikoto is expecting her. It’s a Thursday night, and Mikoto’s sitting at a booth, tucked into the corner so they’re not overheard. He watches her walk in and scan the place, and then smile when she spots him.

“I was surprised when you texted me,” she says, once she’s slid into the booth. She’s not quite relaxed, with her hands clasped so tightly together in front of her, but she doesn’t look so sad this time.

“I wasn’t going to,” he says honestly.

“What made you change your mind?”

Mikoto imagines saying _“I talked it through with my therapist”_ just to see the look on Honami’s face, but she would probably think he’s joking, so he just shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

Honami nods. “So what is it?”

Mikoto exhales heavily. “If you want me to meet the kid, if you think it’s the best thing to do, then I’ll do it.”

“Really?” Honami asks, uncertain. “Are you sure?”

He’d kind of expected her to be happy about it, but he can’t really blame her for being skeptical.

“I’ll meet her, but after that… Don’t expect anything else,” he says, and it comes out terser than he’d meant it to.

But Honami’s expression softens. “Look, Suoh-kun, I’m not asking you to get involved, or to co-parent, and I’m not trying to start some kind of custody battle. And, well, I’m seeing someone,” she says, flushing a bit. “And it’s serious, so it’s not about _that,_ either. I’m just asking you if you’ll meet her.”

“And does the… Does _she_ understand this?” It would be cruel, Mikoto thinks, to give her false hope.

Honami nods. “Anna really is a bright child. We’ve talked a lot about this, or I have, and I think she’s old enough to understand, or else I wouldn’t have asked you to do this.”

“Okay,” Mikoto says.

Honami smiles. “Okay. Do you want to see a picture of her?” She swipes on her phone and slides it over to Mikoto.

The girl… looks nothing like Mikoto. Her hair is fair, and her eyes are nothing like Mikoto’s amber ones. But then again, she’s not smiling in the photograph, and that serious look, maybe, could have been inherited from Mikoto.

“She doesn’t look like me,” he says, and only after he says it does he realize it’s probably not an appropriate response to seeing a picture of your kid for the first time. Honami just chuckles, though. 

“No,” she agrees. “She really doesn’t. She doesn’t look like me, either. I think she actually looks a lot like my sister.”

Mikoto slides the phone back to her, and she shoves it in her purse.

“So,” she says brightly, a little more like herself now that some of the tension has abated. “Do you have time to get a drink? I’ll actually finish mine, this time.”

He gets Kamamoto to bring them a glass of beer and wine, but then Honami orders a round of shots, too. He raises the glass up for a toast. “Cheers,” she says, and then clinks the shot glass against Mikoto’s. They both throw back their shot and slam it back on the table. “So,” Honami says, as Mikoto swallows down the burn of the liquor, “how have you _really_ been?”

Mikoto shrugs. “Fine. You?”

She launches into a long story about becoming a schoolteacher, and it’s a familiar thing, just sitting back and letting her talk. She eventually gets to the part where she meets her boyfriend, and she blushes a little when she does. 

“Thought you’d have been married by now,” Mikoto says.

“Well, dating was pretty hard for a few years there,” she says ruefully. “But I think he’s going to ask me, eventually.” Mikoto nods. He wouldn’t say it, but he’s happy for her. “What about you?” Honami continues innocently. “Are you seeing anyone?”

Mikoto frowns. “No?”

“Don’t say it like it’s ridiculous!” Honami says, laughing.

“It’s not exactly my thing,” he says, because she should know that better than anyone.

“You’re going to meet someone someday, and it won’t seem so crazy, the idea of falling in love,” she says softly.

“I won’t hold my breath,” Mikoto mutters.

Honami stays for another drink, and promises to call when she’s spoken with Anna to set up a time for them all to meet. After she’s gone, Kusanagi slides into the empty seat across from him. “Everything okay?” he asks.

“Fine,” Mikoto says. And he means it, mostly, even if it’s just the pleasant buzz from the shots they’d taken.

“What’s going on? You guys were talking for a while, there.”

“None of your business,” Mikoto says lightly, because he can’t quite admit to himself what he’s agreed to. He doesn’t want to answer any more questions, or for Kusanagi to think that Mikoto is suddenly embracing fatherhood. He’s doing something for Honami, and that’s the end of it.

Kusanagi looks at him skeptically. “You weren’t an asshole to her, were you?” he asks. “Because Honami doesn’t deserve that.”

Mikoto just takes a long sip of his beer.

“Fine, keep your secrets. If you’re not gonna tell me, you should at least talk about it in _therapy.”_ There’s a teasing lilt to his tone, like he’s joking around, but Mikoto can see the concern in his eyes that tells him he’s actually half-serious.

“Yeah, right,” Mikoto says, because Kusanagi doesn’t need to see know how soft Mikoto’s really become when it comes to his therapist.

🔥

Incidentally, the next time Mikoto sees Totsuka isn’t in therapy at all. It’s Saturday night, and he’s standing outside, taking a smoke break, because there’s some kind of bachelorette party going on at Homra tonight, and they keep squealing and cheering and it’s giving Mikoto a goddamn headache. 

“Busy night?” a voice calls from a few feet away, and when Mikoto turns, Totsuka’s walking towards him, grinning, wrapped in a burgundy winter coat and fluffy scarf. 

It should be weird, seeing Totsuka outside of their sessions, like seeing your highschool homeroom teacher in the grocery store, but it’s surprisingly normal, and Totsuka blends in with the crowd, looking like all the other young people out on the town tonight.

Totsuka looks behind Mikoto curiously, peering into the large stained-glass windows of Homra. Mikoto narrows his eyes. “Are you…”

Totsuka looks up at him and laughs at whatever he sees in Mikoto’s expression. “No, no, don’t worry, I’m not coming in. I’m not a school teacher on a home visit. I just never come to this side of town, so I was curious.” 

“You just taking a walk or what?”

“I’m meeting someone in the area,” Totsuka says, but he’s still smiling up at Mikoto, making no move to walk away.

Hesitantly, Mikoto offers his package of cigarettes to Totsuka, even though he’d said no after their first session. This time, though, he plucks out a cigarette. Mikoto lights it for him, and Totsuka nods in thanks before taking a drag. For some reason, Mikoto expects him to cough, like a teenager taking his first puff at a party, but Totsuka exhales the smoke artfully. 

“You a smoker?” Mikoto asks.

“Sometimes,” Totsuka says. “Socially, I guess.”

A group of rambunctious men pass by, forcing Totsuka to step off the sidewalk, closer to Mikoto, and even through the smoke, Mikoto can smell hints of a soft, sweet cologne that Totsuka definitely doesn’t wear in their sessions. Mikoto frowns, not sure why he’d even notice something weird like that.

“You okay?” Totsuka’s looking up at him, wide eyes almost glittering in the soft lighting of the street lamps and signage.

There’s a tap on the glass, and Mikoto turns to see Kusanagi frowning at him from inside Homra. Kusanagi’s voice is too muffled to hear, but he can vaguely make out the words “Mikoto” and “get your ass,” so he figures he’s probably overextended his break. He waves Kusanagi off, and when he turns back to look at Totsuka, Totsuka’s gaze is lingering curiously on the window where Kusanagi had been.  
  
“What is it?” Mikoto asks.

“Huh? Nothing,” Totsuka says quickly, his cheeks a little pink. Mikoto raises an eyebrow, and Totsuka chuckles. “He’s nice-looking, that’s all.”  
  
“Eh?” Mikoto says, wondering if Totsuka meant to say that he _looks nice,_ but then Totsuka’s phone is chiming twice. He pulls it out of his coat pocket and frowns at whatever he reads there, lips curling into a pout. It shouldn’t be so endearing.

“I should get going,” Totsuka says, crushing his cigarette into the outdoor ashtray in front of Homra. “Thanks for the smoke.”  
  
“Whatever,” Mikoto says.

“I’ll see you around!” Totsuka says, grinning, and then he disappears into the crowd of people making their way down the city street, heading to wherever he’s supposed to be tonight.

Mikoto feels weirdly unbalanced when he walks back into Homra.

“Who was that?” Kusanagi asks.

“Nobody,” Mikoto says, because he’s not in the mood to get into the whole ‘I ran into my therapist’ thing. “He just wanted a smoke.”

“Right,” Kusanagi says flatly, eyes narrowed. “What’s going on with you?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Things have been weird lately, Mikoto,” Kusanagi says, like Mikoto doesn’t know that himself. “With your secret lovechild and going to therapy, and now you’re outside smoking with some pretty boy.” 

“ _What,”_ Mikoto wheezes, and Kusanagi frowns at him. “I’m fine,” he says as evenly as he can.

“Okay, then. You’ll tell me if something’s up, right?” Mikoto gives him a look, and Kusanagi has had too many years of practice reading it. He merely sighs and mutters, “Pain in the ass.”

For the rest of the night, Mikoto tries to focus on the sea of people in the bar, and the increasingly rowdy bachelorette group, instead of the weird way his stomach aches when he thinks about the way Totsuka had looked up at him with his stupid, sweet cologne and even sweeter smile.

  
  



	3. managing anger hotspots

Sunday morning, Mikoto finds himself sitting on a park bench. It’s not the infamous one, the one that’d started a fight with Munakata, but one in Honami and Anna’s neighborhood. Still half asleep, he yawns. It’s earlier, much earlier than he’d normally get up, especially after a Saturday night at the bar, but he hadn’t really been able to sleep anyways.

Even with the early hour, there are already kids here playing, wrapped in puffy coats and hats and scarves to protect themselves from the early morning chill. He watches a dad push his kid on the swing, and the kid squeals in delight as he reaches higher and higher. The dad’s smiling, too, like he’s having fun freezing his ass off on a Sunday morning instead of sleeping in a warm bed. 

He’ll never be able to do that, he thinks. He’ll never  _ want  _ to do that. Nobody had ever done it with him. Mikoto’s grandfather had always made sure Mikoto had food in his belly and clothes on his back, but he wasn’t the type to play with Mikoto at the park on weekends. And, frankly, Mikoto wasn’t the type of kid who’d wanted that, either.

Mikoto feels sick, like the fire in his belly has grown claws and is tearing its way out of him from the inside out. He desperately wants a cigarette, but not even he is a big enough asshole to smoke at a park filled with children, so he settles for fiddling with his lighter in the pocket of his jacket.

Suddenly, he’s not alone on the bench. He looks down to his right, and wide grey eyes are staring up at him. Mikoto bristles; she’d approached him so quietly that he hadn’t noticed her sit down.

It’s the kid.

Anna.

She’s bundled up in a navy blue coat, powder blue hat on her fair head and mitts on her tiny hands. Face blank, she’s just watching him, and it is, Mikoto thinks, a little creepy.

“Mikoto,” she says eventually, and he’s not sure if it’s in greeting or if she’s confirming his identity. 

“Yeah,” he says. He looks up, and Honami’s watching them from a distance, and she waves at Mikoto when he spots her.

Anna just keeps watching him, scanning his face like she can see right through him. 

“What?” he asks impatiently, when the moment drags on for too long, but Anna doesn’t even flinch.

She says, quietly, “Your hair is pretty.” Mikoto sputters. Nobody has ever used the word “pretty” to describe anything about him. “I like red,” she says, like it makes it any less strange.

Mikoto’s barely recovered when a soccer ball rolls over, and he stops it with the toe of his boot. A kid runs up to him, chasing after it, and Mikoto tosses it to him. “Thanks, mister,” the kid says with a toothy grin. “Do you wanna play soccer with us?” he asks earnestly. “Our teams are kinda small.” There’s a group of kids and parents watching them in the distance, and Mikoto wonders if the boy’s dad would have been as quick to approach him as his kid had been.

There’s literally nothing Mikoto would rather do less right now, but before he can say anything, Anna murmurs, “No.”

“Okay!” The kid says, then he turns to Mikoto. “Your hair is super cool, mister! See you later!” Then he’s gone, running back towards his group.

Snickering, Mikoto glances down at Anna, who’s watching the other children play. The blank disinterest in her expression is vaguely familiar.

Mikoto hopes that she didn’t inherit his temper, at least.

There’s a gust of chilly wind, and Anna scoots closer to him. “You’re warm,” she says.

Mikoto wonders if he’s supposed to start some kind of conversation. Should he ask her about school? About her favorite color? About why the hell she wanted to meet him, when literally no good could come from having Mikoto in her life? But when he looks down at her, she seems perfect at ease. The silence stretches out between them, and it’s more comfortable than Mikoto would have expected. 

They sit quietly until Honami comes over to get Anna. “Anna, we should get going,” she says.

Anna nods. “Bye, Mikoto,” she says, grabbing Honami’s hand. 

Honami smiles at him gratefully. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Mikoto watches them walk away, hands clenched into fists where they hide in his coat pockets. It wasn’t as bad as Mikoto thought it would be, and he doesn’t know what to do with that. There was almost something  _ familiar _ about Anna, and that’s not how it was supposed to go. 

The calm he’d found sitting beside Anna is engulfed in flames.

  
  
  
  


Kusanagi’s waiting for him when he gets back to Homra, a cup of tea already poured in front of him. He’s surprised when Mikoto walks in from the front door, instead of from down the stairs. “You’re up early,” he says. “Cigarette run?”

“No.” Kusanagi watches him expectantly as Mikoto takes a seat on the couch, and Mikoto sighs. “I met Honami. And the kid.”

Kusanagi gapes at him. “Wait, seriously? How was it?”

Mikoto shrugs. “Fine, I guess.”

“Come on, Mikoto. What was she like?”

“Quiet and weird,” he says shortly.

Kusanagi hums. “She really must be your kid,” he marvels.

“Shut up.”

“When are you gonna see her again? Are you gonna bring her to Homra? I’ve never really been good with kids, but I’m basically like her uncle.” Mikoto listens to Kusanagi babble on, his stomach churning.

This is exactly why he’s dreading his session with Totsuka this week, apart from the weird tension on Saturday. It’s bad enough that he had to actually go and meet the kid, but now everyone expects him to talk about her, to answer stupid questions, to analyze his  _ feelings _ about it all. He hadn’t agreed to any of that. He was just supposed to meet her. “I don’t know,” he says, cutting off whatever Kusanagi is saying.

“You don’t know what?”

“When I’ll see her again.”  _ If  _ he will see her again, he thinks.

Kusanagi frowns. “Hm. Are you and Honami gonna get back together, you think?”

“What?” Mikoto grimaces. “No. Why would you even think that?”

“Don’t say that like it’s a weird thing to ask! Honami’s the only woman you’ve ever seriously dated, right?”

“So what?”

Kusanagi shrugs. “So I always wondered if you’d get back together after you settled down. And you have a kid now, too.”

“Why should that make a difference?” he mutters. 

“Would it be so bad? You had fun drinking together, the other night.”

“We’re done talking about this,” Mikoto says, getting up from his seat. 

“I’m just saying, you’ve really never thought about it?” Mikoto ignores him, moving to go upstairs. 

Honestly, he’d never really thought about it. When Mikoto was a teenager, he’d thought, maybe that he’d loved Honami; she was, apart from Kusanagi, the only person who he cared if he hurt. He thought she was pretty, and he mostly enjoyed the time they spent together, as much as he enjoyed doing anything back then, except for fighting. But it hadn’t been enough then, and it wouldn’t be enough now. 

Kusanagi sighs. “Fine, fine,” he says in defeat. “You know I just want you to be happy, right?” he calls after Mikoto when Mikoto disappears up the stairs.

“Then leave me alone,” Mikoto mutters, though Kusanagi probably can’t hear him.

  
  
  
  
  


Mikoto frowns when he sees Honami’s name on his caller ID later that day. He doesn’t want to answer, partly from the weirdness with Kusanagi earlier, and partly out of fear that Honami hadn’t been truthful, and now that he’d met Anna she’s going to ask more from him. So he lets it ring, until he has a notification that he has a voicemail. 

_ “Thanks again for today,”  _ Honami says in the message.  _ “It was Anna’s birthday yesterday, and when I asked her what she wanted this year, she said she wanted to meet you.” _ Mikoto sucks in a breath. That’s ridiculous, he thinks.  _ “Anyways, I just wanted to say thanks. Don’t be a stranger, okay?” _ she says cheerfully, and then the phone beeps as the message ends.

“Okay,” he says to nobody, wondering if Honami could have been more vague.

  
  


🔥

Monday morning, he wakes to a missed call from the clinic and a voicemail left by the receptionist.  _ “Good morning, Suoh-san,”  _ she says, voice surprisingly steady.  _ “Totsuka-kun needs to push your appointment to Wednesday, at 3:00 p.m. If you’re unable to make it then, please call us back and we can arrange something else.” _

He feels strangely relieved. He’s still not sure what he thinks about meeting Anna, and he doesn’t need Totsuka’s curious gaze on him when Mikoto hasn’t been able to stop thinking about his damn face.

Sitting in the waiting room on a Wednesday afternoon ends up being no different than on a Monday afternoon, really. It’s the same awkward silence, uncomfortable chairs, and the same receptionist who greets him with a wobbly smile. 

What is different, though, is that when Totsuka emerges from his office to call Mikoto’s name, his left arm is in a sling. As Mikoto gets closer, he can make out his split lip and bruised cheek, too. Mikoto must be making some kind of face, because Totsuka says, cheerfully, “Had a bit of an accident this weekend. It’s not as bad as it looks, though!” It sounds practiced, the cheer ringing false, and it makes Mikoto want to clench his fist.

When the door is closed behind them, Mikoto takes the opportunity to crowd into Totsuka’s personal space and take his chin between his thumb and index finger. The split lip, swollen cheek, and soft purple ring under Totsuka’s eye are not from an  _ accident.  _ If there’s one thing Mikoto’s an expert in, it’s the aftermath of a fight. “Who did this to you?” Mikoto demands.

Totsuka’s eyes are wide, and he uses his right hand to push Mikoto’s hand from his face. The touch is enough to snap Mikoto out of his haze, and he lets his hand fall to his sides, unsure of why he’d reacted like that in the first place. “It’s nothing,” Totsuka says, but his voice cracks and he’s still looking up at Mikoto in surprise. Mikoto finally registers how closely they’re standing, and after a deep sigh, he turns and sits in his usual spot on the couch.

Totsuka seems to take his time making his tea, and by the time he’s sitting in front of Mikoto, he’s calm again, smiling brightly, even if it’s a little tighter than usual. “So, how are you?” he asks. “How was your week? Better than mine, I hope.” 

Mikoto frowns at the lightness of Totsuka’s tone, when his face looks like  _ that. _ It seems ridiculous to go on like normal, rambling about his own shit, but Mikoto supposes that Totsuka is the shrink, and so Mikoto has no right to demand information about his life. “Fine,” he says, eventually. The petty part of him wants to stay silent as retribution for Totsuka’s own evasiveness, but, as usual, something about Totsuka’s dumb face makes him continue. “I met her. The kid.”

For some reason, Mikoto is expecting Totsuka to be excited, or congratulate him. But Totsuka just nods at him, like Mikoto’s just said he spent the weekend bowling. Something in that neutral expression untangles the knot that’d been in Mikoto’s stomach since he’d met Anna. “And how did it go?” Totsuka asks.

Mikoto shrugs. “Okay, I guess.” Totsuka waits for him to elaborate, and after a long sigh, he does. “All I did was sit beside the kid for a few minutes.” 

“Did you talk at all?” 

“No,” Mikoto says. Then, “She said my hair is pretty.”

Totsuka bursts into laughter, then muffles it with his notepad. “Sorry,” he gasps. “I’m trying to imagine your face when she said that.” Mikoto snickers, because even he can admit it’s weird enough to be funny. “So,” Totsuka continues once he gathers himself, “other than that lovely compliment, nothing else happened?” 

“No,” Mikoto says, frowning. He fidgets under Totsuka’s continued gaze. Just like with Kusanagi, he doesn’t know what he expects him to say.

“What’s wrong?”

Mikoto tsks. “I feel like everyone’s waiting for me to say that this has changed my life or something.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s like Kusanagi thought that I’d meet the kid and then marry Honami and suddenly embrace fatherhood.” He scoffs. “And now you’re sitting here waiting for me to say that I’ve been changed forever from ten minutes with a complete stranger.”

Totsuka raises an eyebrow. “Is that what I’m thinking?”

“Isn’t it?” Not that Totsuka would tell him, Mikoto thinks, eyeing his bruised face.

“Does it matter to you? What Kusanagi thinks? What I think?”

“No,” Mikoto says harshly. “It’s just fucking annoying.”

“Because you want to decide for yourself?” He takes Mikoto’s silence as agreement. “Have you decided, then? What you’re going to do about your child? If you’re going to do anything?”

Mikoto crosses his arms, maintaining his silence.

“Let me ask you this, then. Hypothetically, putting your reservations aside, can you imagine a future with Anna in your life, where it’s more than just a burden? What kind of relationship could that be?”

Mikoto thinks of how comfortable the silence had been between them that day on the park bench, how strangely in-sync they had been. She hadn’t demanded anything from him except his presence, and that…

Totsuka gives him a few moments to think in silence, and then he changes topics completely, returning to questions about Mikoto’s week: whether he’d had any moments of anger and how he’d coped. Mikoto is grateful for the subject change, the rhythm of their conversation turning back to more comfortable territory. 

When he leaves, at the end of their hour, Totsuka walks him to the door, like he usually does. Mikoto casts one last glance down at Totsuka’s split lip, and Totsuka presses his lips together self-consciously. “I’ll see you next week,” he says.

“Yeah. Try not to have any more  _ accidents _ this week,” Mikoto mutters.

Totsuka laughs, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll try, I’ll try!” he says as he shoos Mikoto out of his office towards reception.

  
  
  


On his way home, Mikoto pulls his phone out from his coat pocket and dials Kusanagi’s number.

_ “Mikoto?”  _ Kusanagi answers.

“Yo.”

_ “What’s up?” _

“Are you still in contact with your  _ friend?” _

Kusanagi pauses.  _ “Which friend?” _

“The one who’s friends with the cop.”

“ _ Yeah, I guess. Why?” _ Kusanagi asks suspiciously

“I need your friend to get me a police report.” There’s no way, Mikoto thinks, that Totsuka didn’t report it to the police

Kusanagi sighs. “What did you do this time?”

“Nothing,” Mikoto says with a chuckle. “Can they get it?”

“Maybe,” Kusanagi says evasively. “Give me the name.”

“Totsuka Tatara. Assault case,” he says. “Should have been filed Saturday night, or Sunday.”

_ “Totsuka,”  _ Kusanagi repeats.  _ “Got it. It might take a while, but I’ll see what I can do.” _

“Thanks.”

_ “Oi, Mikoto, you’re not getting yourself into trouble here, are you?” _

“No,” he says. Then, “Probably not.”

Trouble seems to find him, regardless of his intentions.

  
  


🔥

  
  


Mikoto tries not to let his thoughts linger on Totsuka’s bruised face, or the fact that he may have seen him at Homra hours before he was attacked. The timing seems too coincidental, for this to happen after the Red King becomes his client. Thankfully, Kusanagi’s mystery friend is quick enough in getting him the report the next day.

Mikoto sips on a mug of coffee as he reads through the document Kusanagi had sent him on his phone. He tenses as he reads the cop’s fairly detailed account of how Totsuka had been attacked by three guys on his way home from a bar late Saturday night. It hadn’t been a mugging, which the cop had obviously found suspicious, trying to figure out the motive behind such a random attack. But there’s a note at the bottom of the report about Totsuka’s profession, and the cop obviously thinks a former client could be involved.

There are photographs of Totsuka’s injuries attached, too, and the bruises are even darker on Totsuka’s fair skin than they’d been yesterday, his lip swollen and bloody.

“Mikoto.” Kusanagi’s standing in front of him, watching him anxiously. He pries the mug from Mikoto’s hand. “You’re gonna break it.”

Mikoto hadn’t realized he’d been gripping it so hard.

He skips to the part where Totsuka describes the three guys. The two who actually did the physical assault are fairly nondescript, but Mikoto swears when he reads the description of the third guy, who’d just watched: blonde hair, piercings, with a tattoo of what looked like a crown. 

“Fuck,” Mikoto grunts. If he weren’t so pissed, he’d be impressed Totsuka was able to notice so much. He had known, instinctively, that it had been Kurayama as soon as he’d seen Totsuka’s face. It was too much of a coincidence, for it to have happened so soon after the bastard had paid Homra a visit.

“What’s going on, Mikoto?” Kusanagi asks when Mikoto rises from his seat abruptly. 

“I’ll be back later,” he says, heading up to his apartment to take a shower.

He stands under the scalding hot water, trying to collect his thoughts. It’s not his job to protect anybody, because he’s not built for that. But, he thinks, stomach twisting, Totsuka doesn’t realize what kind of danger he’s in, how vulnerable he really is.

  
  
  
  


Mikoto leans against the brick wall of the community center, smoking a cigarette as he waits for Totsuka. He knew that Totsuka had his group sessions on Thursdays, and it hadn’t been hard to find the time and place on the clinic’s fairly basic website. When Totsuka does emerge, he’s with a young man who’s clutching a skateboard. The kid is obviously in the middle of a story, gesturing wildly, and Totsuka is laughing indulgently. When Totsuka spots Mikoto, he stops in his tracks.

“Hey,” Mikoto says.

“Totsuka-san, is everything okay?” the kid asks, eyeing Mikoto suspiciously. He puffs out his chest as if he’s trying to intimidate Mikoto, even though he’s about half his size. It makes Mikoto chuckle a little.

“It’s fine, Yata,” Totsuka says, patting his shoulder. “Thanks for helping me clean up tonight. I’ll see you next week. ”

“Okay,” the kid says begrudgingly, frowning. “Good night.”

“Good night!” Totsuka calls after him as he wheels away on his skateboard. He looks up at Mikoto. “You’re a little late for group,” he teases. Mikoto gives him a flat look. “Can I help you with something?”

“You’re not afraid to walk home alone,” Mikoto says carefully, “with those three guys still out there?”

Totsuka stills. Mikoto kind of expects him to get angry, since he’s definitely crossed a line, but after a moment, Totsuka smiles wryly and shakes his head, like he should have expected this. “No,” he says, after a moment. “I’m not.”

“You know how to fight?” Mikoto asks skeptically, trailing his eyes over Totsuka’s small frame, one of his arms hanging uselessly in a sling.

“No,” Totsuka says stubbornly. “I don’t need to.”

“Hm. Got a weapon, then?”

“No,” Totsuka says again.

“Want one?” He pulls out his favorite switchblade from his jeans pocket. He’s never been fond of using weapons, preferring to just use his fists, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t sometimes handy to keep one on him, just in case. “I could probably get you a gun,” he says thoughtfully. Kusanagi really did always have a guy for everything.

Totsuka looks surprised for a moment, but then he huffs out a laugh. Instead of answering, though, he just starts walking. Mikoto follows him. “It’s very kind of you, but you don’t need to walk me home,” Totsuka says, and it’s the closest to annoyed Mikoto’s ever heard him sound. It feels like an accomplishment.

“I know the guy that did this,” Mikoto says, “and he’s not done with you.” Totsuka doesn’t react; he just picks up his pace, and Mikoto follows easily, his legs significantly longer. “You don’t seem surprised that I know what happened,” Mikoto says, confirming what he’d suspected: that Totsuka already knew Mikoto was involved. Totsuka’s ignoring him now, so Mikoto grabs the arm that’s not in a sling to stop him. “What did Kurayama say to you?” 

“Nothing.”

“You’re lying,” Mikoto says, and he’s not sure how he can be so certain.

Totsuka sighs. “It doesn’t matter,” he says.

“I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

“He said… to say hello to you. To the Red King.” Totsuka won’t meet his eyes.

Mikoto swears. That hadn’t been in the police report, even though it would have helped the police identify who it was. “You didn’t tell the police that,” Mikoto says, and it sounds like an accusation. 

“It was stupid, but I didn’t want… What good would it do to get you involved in all this?” Totsuka says, and then he starts walking again, at an even brisker pace.

Mikoto’s frozen in place because, absurdly, it sounds like Totsuka’s trying to  _ protect _ him, and that’s… He gathers himself and catches up with Totsuka, following him right to the door of his apartment. “I’m already involved, idiot,” he manages. “You should have told me.”

“Why? So you could go after him yourself?” Totsuka fumbles with his keys as he tries to unlock his front door, clearly still not used to being temporarily one-handed.

Mikoto snorts and grabs the keys from Totsuka’s unsteady hand, their fingers brushing with the movement. Totsuka gasps, and Mikoto chuckles as he unlocks the door. “Relax, I’m not gonna steal them or whatever.”

Totsuka huffs. “That’s not…”

“Is this man bothering you, Totsuka-kun?” a painfully familiar voice asks, a voice that has Mikoto’s blood boiling instantly.

Munakata’s standing there, impeccably dressed in his police chief uniform, eyeing the two of them with interest. 

“What the hell are you doing here, Munakata?” Mikoto snarls.

“A certain report came across my desk and your name caught my eye, Totsuka-kun,” Munakata says to Totsuka, ignoring Mikoto completely. “I remembered you were the counselor who’d been assigned to Suoh’s  _ sessions.” _ His eyes are glittering behind his glasses as Mikoto glares at him. “The report seemed to be missing a few crucial details, so I came to ask you about them.” His eyes slide to Mikoto. “I assume that’s why you’re here, Suoh, since this more than likely involves your old  _ associates.” _ His voice drips with haughty disdain.

They stare at each other in tense silence until Totsuka snickers, and quickly muffles it with his hand. “You weren’t exaggerating,” he whispers to Mikoto, and Mikoto, not expecting it, huffs out a laugh.

Looking between the two of them with narrowed eyes, Munakata frowns. “I was informed by your clinic that you’d be finished your appointments by this time, Totsuka-kun. I need to speak with you in private. We can do it here, if you like, or I can bring you to the station.”

Mikoto instinctively takes a step towards Munakata, squaring himself for a fight, and he doesn’t realize he’s put himself between Munakata and Totsuka until he feels a gentle hand on his back.

“You can come inside,” Totsuka says, and he sounds so tired. “I’ll see you next week, okay?” he says to Mikoto, his smile small but genuine.

“Fine,” Mikoto grunts, taking the time to give Munakata one last dirty look before walking away.

He must look scary as he walks home, if the way people hurry out of his way is any indication. Sucking on a cigarette, he figures he has two main problems. One: Someone may be watching him, if they had seen him and Totsuka together. Two: Someone was probably watching Totsuka, and if they were, they’d see that he was talking to the police again.

Sighing, he composes a message to Kamamoto:  _ I need your eyes. _ It’s something he hasn’t asked of Kamamoto for a very long time, but even so, Kamamoto quickly replies with a  _ Sure, Mikoto-san. _

Now that Kurayama’s sent him a message, Mikoto figures he’ll be coming for him, but, just in case, it would be best for Kamamoto to keep an eye on Totsuka. 

He would wait for Kurayama to come to him, and in the meantime, there was no use in alarming Kusanagi or anybody else.

It would be fine.

  
  


🔥

Except when Mikoto sees Totsuka at their next appointment, he can tell, almost immediately, that something’s off. Totsuka still greets him with a smile, perfectly polite, but there’s a distance in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He still asks questions about Mikoto’s week, about his moods, and still listens intently to his answers, but he fidgets in his seat and keeps checking the time on his phone, and it sets Mikoto on edge.

After a long silence, Totsuka checks his phone again. “We only have a few minutes left,” he says, “and I wanted to discuss something.”

“Okay?” Mikoto says suspiciously. 

Totsuka’s smile is a brittle thing. “I think it would be best to stop our one-on-one sessions,” he says evenly. “I think you could definitely benefit from our group sessions, on Thursday nights, if you’re interested.” He shifts uncomfortably in his spot, still avoiding Mikoto’s eyes. “If that’s not okay, then I understand if you’d like to find a different therapist. I could talk to my colleagues, or I could recommend you some other practices I think might work for you.” He swallows harshly.

The silence is heavy as Totsuka waits for Mikoto to respond. When it’s clear that he’s not going to, Totsuka gets up to escort him to the door, like he does every week. Mikoto feels a dark heat in the pit of his stomach, threatening to spread to his every limb. He follows Totsuka to the door, but when Totsuka goes to open it, he grabs his wrist.

“What did he say to you?” Mikoto asks.

“What?” Totsuka looks nervous, like he never has with Mikoto, and it makes Mikoto think back to how the receptionist had first looked at him all those weeks ago. 

“Munakata, what did he say to you? To make you…”  _ To make you afraid of me,  _ Mikoto thinks.

Totsuka’s eyes are wide. “Nothing. It’s not you, I…”

“You what?” Hand still holding his wrist, Mikoto takes a few steps into Totsuka’s personal space, and Totsuka takes a few steps back in answer, until his back is against the door. Mikoto stares down at him, willing him to answer, and Totsuka trembles slightly, but when Mikoto searches his face, he sees that his lips are parted, cheeks flushed, eyes dark, and...

_ Oh, _ he realizes.

Mikoto stills for a moment, caught off guard, because it’s not what he was expecting. He can’t remember the last time someone has looked at him like this, especially not a  _ guy. _

He knows that he should step away, but he’s frozen in place, his eyes drawn down to Totsuka’s mouth, where his split lip is starting to heal. He’s not sure what makes him lean down. Maybe it’s that, this close, he notices how nice Totsuka smells even without his weekend cologne, or because Totsuka’s tongue peeks out to wet his lips invitingly, like he’s waiting to be kissed, and there’s something about Totsuka that, since the first time they met, makes Mikoto want to indulge him, even in something like this. Totsuka’s breath hitches, and there’s barely a hair between their lips…

And then Totsuka’s phone alarm starts ringing. Totsuka jumps and his head thumps back against the door. “Um, that’s time,” Totsuka says, and it’s low and raspy.

_ Right. _ Mikoto steps back, and Totsuka quickly brushes past him to grab his phone, which is still sitting on the armchair, alarm blaring. Head swimming, trying to process what the hell just happened, Mikoto elects to leave the room as Totsuka starts to say something about the group sessions, closing the door behind him with a satisfying slam, and the receptionist eyes him nervously.

“Have a good afternoon, Suoh-san,” she calls after him meekly, but he barely hears it, so caught up in untangling his own chaotic thoughts.

  
  
  


Kusanagi raises an eyebrow when he finds Mikoto sitting at the bar an hour later, frowning. 

“Everything okay?” he asks uncertainly.

No, Mikoto thinks. Things were already fucked up, thanks to Kurayama, and now they’ve gone and made things even more complicated with stupid shit like  _ feelings.  _ Because Mikoto can admit to himself: he had been about to kiss Totsuka. He wanted to. And Totsuka had wanted it, too.

Kusanagi pats Mikoto’s back sympathetically. “Whatever it is,” he says, “don’t think about it too hard.”


	4. building social support

The next day, Mikoto finds himself in front of the community center where he’d waited for Totsuka just a week ago, surprising even himself. He’s never exactly been one to confront his problems head-on, preferring instead to remain passive until the problem goes away or chases him down and can’t be ignored. But there are a few reasons why those two strategies weren't going to work this time.

For one, Mikoto knows that the court won’t let him avoid his hours for long. He has a set period of time to complete the required hours, and taking too long will fuck shit up.

There’s also the fact that Mikoto, lying in bed wide awake last night, couldn’t stop thinking about it, no matter how hard he tried.

And then, this morning, he’d received a call from the receptionist, saying that Totsuka had passed his contact information along to a colleague to take over for him, and to expect a call later in the day. Mikoto had realized, stomach twisting, that Totsuka had probably taken his storming off yesterday as confirmation that Mikoto was done with him. But he doesn’t want another therapist—he doesn’t think he’d be able to do this without Totsuka. He’d rather be gawked at by a room of angry problem children every week, if it means Totsuka will be there. So when his phone rings later that day from an unknown caller, Mikoto ends the call without answering, not even to say a brusque “thanks but no thanks.”

Kusanagi had seemed skeptical when Mikoto’d told him he was going to group therapy. “Is it the next phase or something?”

“Something like that,” Mikoto had lied.

He walks into the building at exactly eight o’clock, following the low hum of voices down a short hallway until he emerges into the main hall, his heavy boots echoing with every step. Five heads turn to look at him as he approaches where they’re sat in a circle. Totsuka looks shocked, but he quickly schools his features into something more neutral. “Good evening, Suoh-san!” he says kindly. “Please, take a seat.”

He slumps into an empty chair between a blond kid and a kid in a black beanie. The beanie kid is staring at him, and when Mikoto turns to meet his gaze, he realizes it’s the guy that had been with Totsuka last week. He gives him a small nod.

“Since we have someone new with us this week,” Totsuka says, “how about we go around and introduce ourselves? You can say something about why you’re here, or how long you’ve been in therapy for. I’ll start. I’m Totsuka Tatara, of course. I’ve been leading this group for a little over a year now.”

“You always say that, Totsuka-san,” the beanie kid says. “But that’s not being  _ in _ therapy.”

Totsuka chuckles. “I guess that’s true. Then I guess my first time in therapy was in high school. So, a long time ago.” He glances at the sullen kid beside him. “Fushimi?”

The kid tsks. “Fushimi,” he says quietly. “It’s been a few months, I guess.” 

“Eric Solt,” says the blond kid beside Mikoto, a slight accent to his Japanese. “This is my third time here.” He’s eyeing Mikoto intently, and with a sinking feeling in his gut, Mikoto thinks that maybe he’s been recognized.

“Suoh,” Mikoto says. “First time here, obviously.”

The kid on Mikoto’s other side grins. “I’m Yata,” he says directly to Mikoto. “It’s my eighth week, I think? Me and Saruhiko started when--”

“Misaki,” the glasses kid interrupts curtly, and Yata frowns at him.

It’s hard to see the kid beside Yata, since his face is obscured by a black baseball cap and the hood of his sweatshirt, but he says, “Bando. I’ve been coming here for a few months.”

“Thanks, everyone,” Totsuka says. “Now, to start, does anyone have something they want to share from this week?” He looks around the circle, and Yata’s arm shoots up immediately. Totsuka smiles. “Yata?”

“I had a job interview this week,” Yata says.

“That’s good. How did it go?”

Yata frowns. “It started off okay, but then he asked me why I left my old job, like everyone else does. They never care about how good I’d be after they hear that.”

Totsuka smiles knowingly. “Did you get frustrated, when he asked you about it?”

“Maybe,” Yata mutters sheepishly. “I got kinda annoyed, I guess. It’s a pain in the ass.”

Totsuka nods. “Have you given any thought to my suggestion from last week?”

Yata crosses his arms stubbornly, and Fushimi snickers. “Shut up, bastard!” Yata whispers furiously, and Fushimi grins, satisfied.

Totsuka ignores them. “I thought it might be helpful for you to rehearse some kind of explanation, about what happened with your previous employer, and how you’re here now, working hard. If you have something prepared in advance, it’ll be easier to not get upset.”

Yata nods obediently. “I kinda forgot, but I’ll practice for sure!”

Totsuka chuckles. “All right, now, does anyone else want to talk about a frustrating experience this week?”

Mikoto looks around the circle. Nobody looks particularly keen to talk, and he wonders how Totsuka manages to fill a complete hour with these guys. Finally, the guy in the cap raises a hand.

“Bando?” Totsuka smiles.

“This week, I ran into a guy I went to school with,” Bando says. “He pisses me off so much.” He launches into a long, drawn-out story about some dude who stole his girlfriend in middle school or something, and Mikoto quickly loses interest. Instead, he watches Totsuka, how gentle he looks, how attentively he listens.

Surprisingly, even the blond kid shares a story, though it’s just a short, curt few words about an irritating senpai. Totsuka tries to goad Fushimi into saying something, but he remains sullen and tight-lipped. Then Totsuka is thanking them all, and everyone is getting up from their chairs. While the other guys head towards a table in the back, filled with snacks and coffee, Mikoto heads outside immediately, itching for a cigarette.

He waits outside for Totsuka, smoke in hand. Bando gives him a small nod as he passes by, and Fushimi pretends to not even see him. Eric eyes him warily, again, and Mikoto almost wants to stop him to ask him what his problem is, but then thinks better of it; it would be too ironic, to start a fight right after an anger management group therapy session. Totsuka and Yata are the last ones out, and Totsuka tenses when he sees that Mikoto’s waiting for him. Yata eyes Mikoto curiously, with none of the suspicion he’d had last week.

“You came,” Totsuka says, sounding pleased despite his obvious hesitation. 

“Yeah.”

“Are you waiting for me? Isn’t that your friend’s job?”

“My friend?” Mikoto repeats, then freezes.

Totsuka waves in the direction of Kamamoto’s car, and Kamamoto tries to hunch down, as if he can hide his imposing frame. Totsuka chuckles. “You should tell him to come over here. I’ve got some snacks leftover, if he’s hungry.” He lifts up a bag, as proof.

Mikoto sighs and waves Kamamoto over. When he’s in view, Yata gasps. “Eh? Kamamoto?”

“Yata-san?” Kamamoto returns, just as surprised.

“You two know each other?” Totsuka asks.

“We were friends in elementary school,” Yata says.

Totsuka chuckles. “Well, Kamamoto-kun, it’s very nice to meet you, but I think you can go home for the night. I’ll be fine.”

Kamamoto glances at Mikoto, who nods. He smiles sheepishly. “Yata-san, do you want a ride home?” 

Yata grins. “Sure.”

Totsuka gives them the bag of snacks and they head towards Kamamoto’s car, Kamamoto smiling at Yata’s cheerful chatter.

Totsuka hums. “Small word.” He turns to look at Mikoto, smile faltering now that it’s just the two of them. “I’m glad you came tonight. I wasn’t sure if you would.” He hesitates. “I’ll see you next week?” Mikoto frowns at him, and Totsuka sighs. “I’m fine to walk home, you know. It’s not that far.” Mikoto stares him down until Totsuka murmurs, “Fine, fine.”

“You didn’t make me talk,” Mikoto says, once they’ve started walking.

“Did you want me to?” Totsuka laughs at Mikoto’s flat look. “It’s pretty common for people to just listen during their first group. Don’t worry, I’ll put you on the spot soon. I know you’ll love that.”

Mikoto snorts. “Was that true, what you said? That you went to therapy in high school?”

“It was,” Totsuka replies. “My dad died when I was in my third year of high school, and some of my teachers were worried about me, so they made me see someone.”   
  
“They thought you were depressed or something?”

Totsuka chuckles. “Kind of the opposite. They thought I wasn’t affected enough, I guess. But it turned out okay. That’s how I met my mentor.” He says it so lightly, so casually, but even so, Mikoto quickly changes the subject.

“When did you notice Kamamoto?”

Totsuka laughs, and it’s the most light-hearted he’s been all night.  _ That’s better, _ Mikoto thinks. “Almost immediately,” Totsuka replies. “Seemed like too much of a coincidence to keep seeing him right after you tried to warn me.” 

“You didn’t think he was one of Kurayama’s guys?”

Totsuka’s smile turns wry. “I saw him get out of his car to help an old lady across the street, once.”

Mikoto groans. Kamamoto really is too soft, sometimes.

They walk in silence until they get to Totsuka’s doorstep. Totsuka unlocks his door, but then he pauses, chewing his lip thoughtfully. “Listen,” he says, “I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t mean to upset you, or be so, um, unprofessional.” It’s kind of satisfying, Mikoto thinks, to see Totsuka squirm a little for once, his cheeks going pink. “I’m really glad you’re continuing with the program, and I hope I haven’t made things too awkward so we can continue working together in a, um, professional capacity.” When Mikoto says nothing in return, Totsuka’s grip on his doorknob tightens. “Right. Well, good night. I’ll see you next week.”

“Hey,” Mikoto says, just as Totsuka steps into his doorway. When he turns around, Mikoto’s already in his personal space. This time, when he leans down, it’s deliberate, without any hesitation. He cups Totsuka’s cheek, thumb lingering on his jaw. It’s nothing more than a soft, quick press of lips, but Totsuka’s still dazed when they part. For once, it’s up to Mikoto to wait for Totsuka to say something.

“Um…” he says eventually, pressing his fingers to his lips.

“Was that unprofessional?” 

“Yeah,” Totsuka says breathlessly. 

Mikoto chuckles. “Later,” he says, stepping out of the doorway to head back to Homra. He feels lighter, somehow, and he should probably stop grinning, because there’s no way that Kusanagi won’t notice.

  
  


🔥

By the time they close Homra on Saturday, or early Sunday morning, technically, Kusanagi is halfway to a migraine, because the busboy they’d hired to help out on the busy nights hadn’t shown up. “I’m gonna have to hire someone else,” he complains, rubbing his temples, sitting at the bar beside Mikoto. Hiring is always a bothersome process for Kusanagi, because he’s always been particular about how things are done at his bar, though you probably wouldn’t be able to tell from the fact that he lets Mikoto work here.

Mikoto offers him a cigarette and lights it for him. Taking a drag of his own, he calls Kamamoto over. “You know that Yata kid, right?”

“Yata-san?” Kamamoto asks in surprise. “Yeah, for a long time.”

“What do you think of him?”

“I always looked up to him in school because he was so brave and passionate.” He smiles fondly. “Even if he’s a bit, uh, impulsive.”

“Think he could do the job?”

“I think he’d work hard,” Kamamoto agrees. 

Mikoto shrugs. “Then give him the job,” he says to Kusanagi.

“Wow, Mikoto,” Kusanagi says dryly. “You never get involved in personnel issues.” He looks over at Kamamoto. “Well, if you and Mikoto vouch for him, that’s good enough for me. You’ll be in charge of training him, okay?”

“Yes, Kusanagi-san!” Kamamoto says earnestly.

When Kamamoto calls Yata, Mikoto can hear his enthusiastic reply over the phone, and he chuckles.  
  


Yata shows up Sunday afternoon, and bows politely to Kusanagi. “Thank you for giving me a chance, Kusanagi-san!”

Kusanagi looks at Yata skeptically. “Are you even old enough to serve drinks?”

Yata’s eye twitches, but he manages to say, evenly, “Yes, sir. I’m only a year younger than Kamamoto.”

“Okay, then,” Kusanagi says. “Have Kamamoto show you around when he gets here.” And then he’s already walking away, pulling out his phone to make a call.

“Hey,” Mikoto says to Yata, tilting his head down towards the empty seat beside him. 

Yata sits beside him obediently. “Yes?”

Mikoto sighs. It would be reckless of him to bring Yata into Homra without giving him some idea of what’s been going on. He hasn’t heard from Kurayama again, but that doesn’t mean he won’t. 

“There’s something you should know before you agree to work here,” he says. Yata blinks expectantly. “Lately there’ve been some… shady kinda guys hanging around here. Do you know what I mean?”

Yata lowers his voice to match Mikoto’s seriousness. “Like… yakuza?”

“Sort of. I mean that it might get dangerous here, with us.”

Yata looks thoughtful, but then he nods once, decisively. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I won’t let anything happen to the bar!”

Mikoto snickers. “I meant dangerous for  _ you.”  _

“Oh,” Yata says. “Well, don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself! I may not be as big as Kamamoto, but I know how to fight.” His grin is a little mischievous, and Mikoto kinda believes him. There’s something almost endearing about Yata’s expression, like he’s spoiling for a fight.

Mikoto chuckles. “Okay, then.” 

  
  


🔥

  
  


“I got a job!” Yata proclaims proudly during their next group session, barely letting Totsuka get a word in to welcome them.

Totsuka seems too pleased to scold him for his outburst, though, so he just smiles and says, “That’s great, Yata. Tell us about it, if you want to.”

Yata grins. “I’m working at Mikoto-san’s bar. Or, um, Suoh-san,” he corrects, realizing that everyone here only knows Mikoto by his family name. Everyone’s eyes are suddenly on Mikoto. Totsuka’s smile is wry, and Mikoto senses that he’s going to be teased about this later.

Yata launches into a long, detailed explanation about how he’d gone to Homra and met Kusanagi, and how his old friend Kamamoto already works there. He’s still going on about it when the glasses kid, Fushimi, says, “Shut up, Misaki.”

“What’s your problem, Saruhiko?” Yata fires back. “Are you jealous?”

Fushimi scoffs. “Jealous that you work in a  _ bar? _ Please.” It’s the most that Mikoto’s heard Fushimi say, outside of introducing himself last week.

“You bastard--”

“Guys,” Totsuka says firmly, and they both shut their mouths, staring pointedly away from each other. The atmosphere is tense, and Mikoto wonders when Totsuka became a damn babysitter. “Fushimi, do you have something to say about Yata’s new job?”

“No,” Fushimi says sullenly. “I don’t care where he works. We just don’t need to hear about it.” 

“We?” Totsuka prompts gently. Fushimi frowns at that, crossing his arms. Yata waits to see if he’s going to say something else, but he seems to be done. “Yata, you can continue, if you’d like.”

“That’s okay. And it’s not ‘cause of what you said, Saruhiko,” Yata says defensively. “It’s ‘cause I finished the story.” 

“Well, since we’re talking about jobs, let’s talk about workplace stress,” Totsuka says, changing topics smoothly despite the lingering tension between Yata and Fushimi on either side of him. “Yata, do you think this job is something you’re going to be able to handle?” 

“Yeah! I’m gonna work really hard,” Yata promises. “And me and Kamamoto make a good team.” Fushimi tsks at that, but both Totsuka and Yata ignore it.

“That’s great,” Totsuka says. “Does anyone else ever have a hard time managing their anger at work?” He looks around the circle, eyes settling on Mikoto. He doesn’t call his name, but there’s a challenge in his eyes.

Mikoto licks his lips. “Not really,” he says. “But I guess that’s ‘cause I don’t really need to.”

Totsuka tilts his head. “How so?”

“If a customer pisses me off, I can just tell them to get out.”

Totsuka chuckles. “So it suits you that you’re in charge?”

“I guess.”   
  
“What about your coworkers? Do you ever get angry with them?”

That, he thinks, is Kusanagi’s problem. “Not my job,” he says.

“I see.” Totsuka smiles at him, small and private, and then moves along to someone else, and Mikoto lets the tension bleed out of him as he gets to sit back and listen for the rest of the session.

  
  


Like last week, Mikoto waits outside of the building for Totsuka, watching as the other guys leave. Fushimi sends him a truly impressive glare as he passes by, and Mikoto watches him impassively. He’s not sure what he’s done to piss the kid off so much. Maybe, he thinks, Fushimi’s just mad at everyone.

Again, Totsuka is the last to emerge, with Yata at his side. When he spots Mikoto, Yata’s eyes sparkle. “See you later, Mikoto-san!” He wishes them both a good night and then he’s bounding off on his skateboard.

“It was nice of you to get him a job,  _ Mikoto-san,”  _ Totsuka teases. 

“Shut up. That’s what they call me at the bar,” he says gruffly. “And I didn’t do anything.”   
  
“I’m sure.” Totsuka hums. “You really don’t need to walk me home every time,” he says as they walk the now-familiar route to Totsuka’s apartment. “It’s not the first time I’ve had a  _ dangerous _ client, you know. You’re hardly the first person I’ve met with a shady past.”

“It’s not a big deal.” Mikoto shrugs. “Have you seen anyone around lately?”

Totsuka smiles. “Other than Kamamoto? No, I haven’t. You’re expecting that guy to make a move?”

Mikoto nods. “Kurayama isn’t the type to lie low for long. A while ago, he said… Well, he said he wanted to set me on fire.” Totsuka’s eyes widen. “Metaphorically, I think. He’s trying to piss me off.”

“Hm,” Totsuka says, as they reach his front door. “Well, it’s a good thing that you’re in the care of an excellent mental health professional whose area of expertise is avoiding just that. He smiles up at Mikoto, and it’s one of those achingly gentle ones. “You know everything’s going to be okay, right?”

Mikoto frowns at him. “Your optimism is kind of annoying, you know.”

Totsuka laughs, taking his keys from his pockets, jangling them slightly. There’s a tension between them, perhaps the memory of what happened last week washing over them now that they’re standing here. “Get home safely,” Totsuka says, lips quirking into a smile, “Mikoto-san.”

Mikoto chuckles, some of the tension dissipating. “Whatever,” he says, watching Totsuka make it safely through the door.

  
  
  
  


“You’re in a good mood,” Kusanagi says, surprised, when Mikoto walks into the bar. “Is therapy that fun?”

“Shut up,” Mikoto replies easily.   
  
“Maybe I should try it.”

“Shut up.”

  
  


🔥

  
  


He’s not sure what makes him answer the phone when it rings, far too late at night for it to be anything good. Mikoto rarely answers the phone during normal hours. It must be sleepiness that has him pressing the phone to his ear without even looking at the caller ID. “Yeah,” he rasps.

There’s a pleased hum on the line.  _ “He answers,”  _ a voice says.  _ “The Red King.” _

The familiar voice hits him like a bucket of water, chilling him to the bone, and he jerks awake. “What the fuck do you want, Kurayama?”

Kurayama’s laughter is ugly. _ “Just wondering if you’re ready for our rematch yet,” _ he says.  _ “I’ve given you lots of time to think about it. I even asked your friend to remind you.” _

Mikoto grips his phone tightly. “Then stop fucking around and we can settle this. Just give me a time and a place.”

_ “Hmm, but you don’t sound desperate enough yet,” _ Kurayama almost sings.  _ “The last time we spoke, I hadn’t realized you have quite so much to lose. How about that pretty little girl of yours? What’s her name? Anna-chan?” _

Mikoto stills, the dread in the pit of his stomach at hearing Kurayama’s voice contorts into a blistering rage at the mention of Anna. He’s only met the kid once, and she’s already something to be used against him. 

“Fuck you,” he snarls.

There’s more ugly laughter, and then the line goes dead. Mikoto stares at the screen, fists clenched tightly in an attempt not to throw it across the room.

He lights a cigarette, trying to calm his racing heart, and looks through his phone history for a number that only appears a few times, and then he dials.

_ “Suoh-kun?”  _ Honami answers, panicked even as she’s obviously half-asleep.  _ “Is everything okay?” _

“I need to talk to you,” he says brusquely. “Tomorrow.”

_ “Okay.” _ She sounds uncertain.  _ “I’ll come to Homra after dinner, then.” _

“No, as soon as you can. Come before it opens.”

Honami pauses.  _ “I’ll have to bring Anna, then.” _

“That’s… Yeah, whatever.”

“All right, then. Are you okay, Suoh-kun?” she asks again. “I know you wouldn’t have called like this if there wasn’t something wrong.

“I’m fine.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” she says softly.

Dropping his phone to the floor, Mikoto rubs at his face. He hadn’t yet decided if he wanted to introduce Anna to Kusanagi, to Homra, and more than anything he hates that his arm is being twisted into it. But whether he wants to be the kid’s father or not, it would be his fault if he kept his mouth shut and something happened to her. After what that bastard did to Totsuka, there’s no telling what else he’s capable of.

With that thought in mind, hesitates before fishing around for the card with Totsuka’s number on it. He’s not sure if Totsuka will answer, but he figures Totsuka must be used to receiving calls at this hour, in his line of work. 

The line rings and rings, and Mikoto’s about to end the call when Totsuka’s sleepy voice finally answers.  _ “Hello?”  _ It’s rough and low, and not what Mikoto’s expecting, and it makes him feel warm in a completely different way.

“Hi,” he says.

There’s a moment of silence on the line, and Mikoto thinks maybe Totsuka doesn’t recognize his voice, but then he hears a sharp intake of breath before Totsuka says,  _ “Is everything okay?” _

“Have you heard from our mutual friend?”

_ “I’m guessing you don’t mean Yata.” _

“No.”

_ “No, I haven’t. I would have told you.” _

“Okay. Good.”

_ “Why? Is something wrong?” _

“No,” he says. Then, “Not yet.”

_ “What happened?” _

Mikoto sighs. “He called me. He was talking shit, but I think he might try something.”

Totsuka hums.  _ “I see. Well, you don’t have to worry about me, okay?” _

Mikoto grunts. “I’ll see you Thursday,” he says, instead of arguing Totsuka’s point. He’s going to figure out a way to keep an eye on everyone.

_ “Yes. And you know you can call, too, right? Like this? If something else happens?” _

Mikoto grunts again in response. “Bye.”

Totsuka laughs, gentle and soft. “Bye.”

Totsuka hangs up, and Mikoto lets his phone drop to the ground beside his bed. He rests a hand on his belly, as if it can smother the anger still swelling there despite the still-strange soothing effect Totsuka’s voice usually has on him. 

He didn’t ask for this, to have everyone he knows in danger because of him. This is precisely what he’d tried to avoid, all those years ago, and Kurayama must know that.

He grabs a cigarette and lights it with shaky hands. The deep inhales and long exhales help him steady his breathing, and the fire turns into a low crackling. Chuckling, he wonders if Totsuka would approve of cigarettes being his main form of stress relief, but at this point, he thinks, it’s the only one he’s got.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're halfway there! Thank you for reading, and please let me know if you're enjoying the story so far! It might help with my motivation as I finish up the last chapter & epilogue :)


	5. communicating assertively

The next morning, Kusanagi finds him sitting at the bar smoking a cigarette. 

“You look like crap,” he says.

“Thanks.”   
  
“Trouble sleeping?”

“I guess,” Mikoto says. He knows that it’s time to fill Kusanagi in on everything, though it’s not a conversation he’s looking forward to. He sighs. “I got a call.”

“From who?” Kusanagi sits down beside him, eyebrows drawn in concern. “What’s going on, Mikoto?”

“You remember that police report I asked you to get me?”

“You mean that assault case?”

“Yeah. Did you read it?”

“I skimmed it. Why?”

“Totsuka Tatara’s assault. That’s…” He sighs again, preparing himself for the onslaught of questions. “That’s my therapist.”

“Your therapist was assaulted?” Kusanagi’s surprise turns into confusion. “Did he ask you to get involved or something?”

“No. I already was,” Mikoto says slowly, “because I knew who attacked him.”

“Eh?”

“It was Kurayama.”

“Kurayama?” Kusanagi thinks for a moment, then he frowns. “Like Kurayama Mitsuha? That guy who was always starting fights with you way back when?” Mikoto nods. “Why would that guy attack your therapist?”

Mikoto crushes his cigarette stub in the ashtray in front of him, focusing on that instead of Kusanagi’s face. “He paid me a visit at Homra the other day.”

“Kurayama?”

“Yeah.”

“What did he want?”

“Revenge, I guess.”

Kusanagi goes silent for a long moment, and the confusion in his eyes shifts to something like concern. “Oi, Mikoto, what the hell are you talking about?”

“He blames me for his shitty life and thinks destroying mine will make it better or something.”

“When was this, exactly?”

“I don’t know. A few weeks ago.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me about this before?” Kusanagi’s tone is icy and dangerously polite, the way it gets when he’s really angry. 

“I didn’t think it would be a big thing.”

“Someone threatening to  _ destroy your life _ isn’t a  _ big thing?” _ Kusanagi asks incredulously, anger leaking through. Mikoto remains stubbornly silent, and Kusanagi lets out a frustrated sigh before refocusing himself like the pragmatist he is. “Why would he go after your therapist?”

Mikoto shrugs. “I guess to show that someone’s been watching me. They’ve seen where I’ve been going every week.” He knows that he’s leaving out a huge chunk of the story, but he figures it’s enough information for now. 

“Huh. Is your therapist okay?”

“Yeah. I’ve had Kamamoto watching things for him.”

“Oh, so you told Kamamoto,” Kusanagi mutters.

“No, I didn’t tell him much. Just that I needed him to keep an eye on someone.”

Kusanagi nods. “You said you got a call. Was it Kurayama?”

“Yeah.”   
  
“What did he want?”

“To taunt me. About the kid.”    
  
“Shit,” Kusanagi says. “Do you really think he’ll go after her?”

“I don’t know. But I told Honami to come here, just in case. She should know what’s going on.”

“You think?” Kusanagi asks dryly.

The bell on the front door jangles as someone pushes through the door. “Good morning, Mikoto-san, Kusanagi-san,” Kamamoto says politely.

“You’re here early,” Kusanagi remarks.

“I need to talk to him,” Mikoto says. He’d texted Kamamoto this morning, asking him to come to Homra right away, right after he’d watched Totsuka safely enter the clinic. 

“I’ll make us some coffee,” Kusanagi says, since Mikoto has already finished off the pot he’d made early this morning. 

After taking off his puffy coat and hanging it dutifully on a hook, Kamamoto sits down beside Mikoto. “Is everything okay?”

Mikoto turns to face him. “I wanted to ask you if you think Yata would be good at the  _ other  _ work that you do.”

Kamamoto hums, looking thoughtful. “I think he would,” he says seriously. “I know he’s small, but he’s always been a fighter. Did I ever tell you about the time that Yata-san fought off a mugger?”   
  
“No,” Mikoto says, chuckling. For some reason, he can picture it easily.

“The guy was twice his size. And Yata’s always stood up for me, even though he’s half  _ my _ size.” He chuckles fondly. “Anyway, Mikoto-san, I’m pretty sure Yata would do whatever you asked of him.”

Mikoto raises a brow, unsure of what he’s done to have inspired such loyalty in the kid. Kusanagi comes back with a fresh pot of coffee and two additional mugs. He pours them all a cup and then takes a seat beside Mikoto.

“Is something going on, Mikoto-san?” Kamamoto asks, taking a sip of his black coffee.

“Yeah,” Mikoto admits. “I got someone coming later, for you to meet. And Yata, if you think he’d help. She needs protection.”

Kamamoto takes out his phone. “I’ll text him.” He shoots off a message, and the reply is almost immediate, even at the early hour. They both chuckle. “He’ll be here,” Kamamoto says. “Who are we meeting?”

Mikoto sighs. He hates that the choice to introduce Anna into his life isn’t his own, or, at least, not free of coercion. But when he looks at Kamamoto, he sees loyalty and kindness, and he thinks that telling Kamamoto probably isn’t the worst thing in the world. “My kid,” he says shortly.

Kamamoto gapes at him. “Oh. I… I didn’t know you had one.”

_ Neither did I,  _ Mikoto thinks.

Yata bursts through the door not long after, skateboard in hand. “Good morning!” he calls out to them, grinning. He claps Kamamoto on the back playfully, and Kamamoto almost chokes on his coffee. 

“Leave that thing outside, Yata,” Kusanagi says, eyeing his skateboard distastefully. 

“I promise I won’t use it,” Yata begs.

“You better not,” Kusanagi warns. “My floors are  _ perfect.” _

Yata nods solemnly at the threat in Kusanagi’s voice. He sets down his skateboard in the corner and then sits beside Kamamoto. “So what’s going on?” he asks. “Are we having a meeting?”

Mikoto sighs. Unlike Kamamoto, Yata doesn’t know about all the Red King stuff, all the shit from the past that Mikoto loathes to dredge up. Thankfully, Kusanagi takes the reins. “Have you ever heard of the Red King, Yata?” Kusanagi asks.

Yata hums. “Yeah. We used to hear stories about him in school. He was the strongest guy in the city, right?”

Mikoto scoffs, and Kusanagi smiles wanly. “Right,” he says. “Well, that’s Mikoto. Or, it was.”

“Eh?” Yata gasps. “Really? That’s so cool!” Mikoto chuckles. Of course it’s something that would impress Yata. Yata turns to Kamamoto. “You’ve been working with the Red King this whole time?” he asks, partly in awe, partly jealousy. 

“I’m not the Red King,” Mikoto says tersely. “Not anymore.”

“The problem is, Yata, that some guys from the past are trying to make trouble again,” Kusanagi explains. “We think some people might be in danger.”

“Who?” Yata asks.

“Totsuka,” Mikoto says.

Yata jumps up from his seat, mouth set defiantly. “We won’t let anything happen to Totsuka-san!”

“Yata-san, calm down,” Kamamoto whispers, tugging on his arm to pull him back into his seat.

“And there’s also…” Kusanagi eyes flit to Mikoto, looking to see if he wants to say it himself.

“My kid,” Mikoto says with gritted teeth. “And her mother.”

Yata’s gaping at him, his expression almost identical to Kamamoto’s just minutes ago. “Oh, I didn’t…”

“They’re coming here later,” Kusanagi continues swiftly, and Mikoto’s grateful for it. “And we’re going to have to come up with some way to protect them until this all ends.”

“Can you two do it?” Mikoto asks. “Protect them?”

Yata and Kamamoto’s eyes meet, and they nod at each other. “Of course we can,” Kamamoto says seriously. 

“What about Totsuka-san?” Yata asks. 

“I don’t think they’ll go after him again,” Mikoto says. “But I’ll keep an eye on him.” Yata accepts that easily, but Mikoto can feel Kusanagi watching him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Kusanagi says. There’s more he wants to say, but he presses his lips together instead.

  
  
  
  


A hush falls over the room when Honami and Anna walk into Homra later that afternoon. Anna is clutching Honami’s hand, the both of them wrapped in their winter coats. Anna’s gaze seeks out Mikoto immediately, and her smile is so slight that Mikoto thinks he may be imagining it. “Mikoto,” she says quietly.

“Hey,” he says.

In a flurry of movement, Kamamoto and Yata are up from their seats, helping Honami and Anna out of their coats and ushering them over to sit at the bar. Yata blushes fiercely when Honami thanks them for their help, sputtering out, “Y-your welcome!”

Anna walks up to the empty stool beside Mikoto. “Can I sit beside you?” she asks him.

“If you want,” Mikoto says. She stands on the tips of her toes, but even still she can’t quite lift herself into the seat, and without thinking, Mikoto grabs her arm and hoists her up. He hears Kusanagi snicker, and when he turns to look at him, Kusanagi is grinning at him like he’s done something miraculous. “Shut up,” he mumbles at Kusanagi.

Honami takes the chair beside Anna, hands clenched nervously. Kusanagi smiles at her sympathetically. “Do you want anything to drink, Honami? I made tea.”

“Sure,” she says, smiling politely even in her nervousness. She glances down at Anna. “This is Kusanagi Izumo, Anna.” Mikoto wonders if Honami has told Anna stories about them from their teen years. 

“Nice to meet you, Anna-chan,” Kusanagi says smoothly, tone dangerously close to the one he uses when he talks to women at the bar, and so it’s Mikoto’s turn to snicker. “Do you want some hot chocolate? I have whipped cream.” Mikoto’s never really seen Kusanagi with a kid before, but he seems to be doing his best to win her over, and it’s kind of hilarious.

Anna considers him for a moment, and then shakes her head.

“Okay, then,” Kusanagi says. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

“What’s going on, Suoh-kun?” Honami asks quietly, once Kusanagi has placed a cup of tea in front of her. She holds the cup in her hands, enjoying the warmth, even though it’s still too hot to sip.

Mikoto sighs.

“Do you remember Kurayama?” Kusanagi asks, though Mikoto doesn’t know why she would. It’s not like he used to confide in her with stuff like that, even when he probably should have.

Honami looks thoughtful. “I think so. Didn’t he used to give Suoh-kun a hard time, years ago?”

Mikoto snorts at the understatement, and Kusanagi nods. “Yeah, he used to think of himself as Mikoto’s rival or something. He was in jail for a while, but now he’s out.” 

“And he’s making trouble again,” Honami deduces.

“Yeah,” Mikoto says.

“Okay.” Honami sets down her teacup. “What does this have to do with us?” she asks, suspicion creeping into her voice.

“I got a call last night,” Mikoto says. Looking down at Anna, he hesitates. He’s not an expert on kids, but he figures he shouldn’t say anything to freak her out. They probably don’t need to know exactly what Kurayama had said. “They might be watching us, so it’s probably best that… that someone looks out for you. In case.”

Kusanagi tilts his head towards where Yata and Kamamoto are standing. “This is Kamamoto and Yata. We’re gonna have them keep an eye on you two for a bit.”

Honami bites her lip. “I thought you weren’t involved in all this anymore, Suoh-kun,” she says quietly. 

It feels like an accusation, even though that’s probably not how Honami meant it. 

“I’m not,” Mikoto says tersely. “But I can’t control what other people do.” 

Honami looks at him for a long moment and then sighs. “Is this really necessary?”

“Yeah,” Mikoto says.

“Okay, then. I trust you, Suoh-kun,” Honami says sincerely, even though she shouldn’t, even though Mikoto gave her more than enough reasons not to. She takes a sip of her tea and then sets down the cup. “We should get home, so Anna can do her homework.” She stands, and then Anna looks up at Mikoto expectantly. He hesitates for a moment, before he grasps her under her arms to gently lift her from her seat and place her back on the floor. 

“Thank you, Mikoto,” she says quietly, looking up at Mikoto so intently that Mikoto needs to look away.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Honami says to Mikoto, her smile much kinder than Mikoto would have expected. She gives a little wave to Kusanagi, and then she and Anna are off. Yata and Kamamoto trail behind them to escort them home. 

When it’s just the two of them again, Kusanagi is watching Mikoto curiously. 

“What?” Mikoto grunts.

“Nothing. That was just really interesting.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, just seeing you with Honami again, and with a kid. With your kid.” 

Mikoto scoffs. 

“I know I’m not supposed to say anything about this,” Kusanagi continues carefully, “but Honami still looks at you the way she used to.”

Mikoto stiffens. “That’s her problem.” 

“Right,” Kusanagi says, frowning. “So you’re going to let Kamamoto and Yata watch your kid and her mother, while you look after… your therapist?” He sounds like he thinks Mikoto is lying or something. And maybe it does sound weird, but Kusanagi doesn’t know Totsuka, or everything that’s gone down since Mikoto first stepped into the clinic and was accosted by those eyes and that smile. So he says nothing, letting his silence be his agreement.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Waiting outside of the clinic for Totsuka to come down after his last appointment, Mikoto’s not sure what it says about him that he knows Totsuka’s schedule like this. 

Hands stuffed into his coat pockets, he suddenly has the feeling of being watched. He tilts his head slightly, trying to take a look in his peripheral vision without giving himself away, and sees a flash of pale blond hair, and then it’s gone, leaving him frowning to himself. There’s only one person he can think of with hair that fair, not the artificial bleach blond that’s more common in the city, like Kurayama’s yellowed hair.

“It’s not Thursday,” Totsuka calls from the door, lips curving into a smile.

“No,” Mikoto agrees.

“Does this have anything to do with the phone call I received last night?”

“Could be,” Mikoto replies glibly. They start the familiar walk towards Totsuka’s apartment, side by side. 

“Where’s Kamamoto?” Totsuka asks, amused. “I thought it was his job to follow me home.”

“I asked him to keep an eye on someone else.”

Totsuka hums. “I feel honored.”

Mikoto eyes him, unimpressed. “Shouldn’t you feel scared? Or anxious?”

“Probably.”

Instead it’s Mikoto who feels strangely anxious, unable to shake the feeling that he’s being watched, and not by who he’d thought. “Did that blond kid have an appointment with you today?” he asks, unable to put his suspicions aside.

“You mean Eric?” Totsuka asks, surprised. “No, we don’t do one-on-one sessions anymore. He wasn’t very responsive to it.”

“Hm.” Mikoto thinks of the first time he’d seen Eric, when it seemed like he had recognized Mikoto immediately, and his suspicions only grow. “What do you know about him?”

“Why?” Totsuka asks, expression more shuttered than usual.

“Got a bad feeling.”

Totsuka considers his words. “A friend of mine introduced us. He works with homeless youth and found Eric on the streets, and got him into a shelter. Eric’s been pretty tight-lipped, so I don’t know much about his past. But based on his old injuries and behaviors, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was involved in... some bad things.”

“You should watch out for him,” Mikoto warns.

He’s still frowning when they get to Totsuka’s front door, thoughts stuck on the blond kid and the idea that there were other potential threats he hadn’t thought of. Totsuka tugs on the sleeve of his coat to get his attention. “Hey,” Totsuka says.

“What?”

Totsuka peers up at him with those eyes, studying his face. “You look really tired.”

“I am,” Mikoto says. “Didn’t sleep much last night.”

“You need to take care of yourself,” Totsuka says, frowning. Mikoto should be annoyed by someone fussing over him like this, but Totsuka’s frown is almost like a pout, and it just makes him want to lean down and kiss him.

“I’m fine,” Mikoto says tersely, but then his stomach growls,  _ loudly.  _

Totsuka narrows his eyes. “You haven’t eaten,” he accuses.

“I’m fine,” Mikoto says again, but then the hand that was grasping his coat sleeve slides down, Totsuka’s fingers wrapping around his hand.

“Come inside,” Totsuka says. “I’ll feed you.” His fingers are cold as they slide between Mikoto’s.

Mikoto looks down, at how slender Totsuka’s hand looks being held in Mikoto’s own, and heat coils low in his belly. “Isn’t that  _ unprofessional?” _ he asks, as if he cares about that kind of thing. 

“I don’t know,” Totsuka says. “You don’t have to, if you’re uncomfortable, but you’re welcome to.” Mikoto just nods, and Totsuka tugs him into his apartment, their fingers still linked. He slips off his coat and hangs it beside Totsuka’s, and then toes off his boots, too, and leaves them at the entryway. “Make yourself at home,” Totsuka says. “I’m going to get started in the kitchen.”

Totsuka’s place is a pretty decent size, though it’s filled with too many pieces of worn furniture, books and movies and god knows what else. Curiously, though, he doesn’t see so much as a single photograph of Totsuka, with friends or family. Mikoto had imagined someone kind and bubbly like Totsuka to have been raised in a big, happy family, the kind you see in television movies. 

Mikoto wanders into the kitchen, where Totsuka is chopping vegetables, sporting a light blue apron to cover his button-up shirt. Something’s boiling in a pot, and it smells good. His eyes roam around Totsuka’s small kitchen, and settle on a small piece of paper stuck to the fridge with a magnet.  _ Munakata Reisi, _ it reads,  _ Chief of Police. _ It contains the address of his precinct and two contact numbers. Mikoto practically growls, an automatic response.

“What is it?” Totsuka turns around to see what he’s looking at, and he laughs when he sees Mikoto glaring at the business card. “Ah, yes, your arch nemesis.”

“He is not,” Mikoto says stubbornly. “I don’t care enough for him to be my arch nemesis.” Totsuka snickers, biting his lip like he wants to say something. “What?”

“Nothing,” Totsuka says innocently.

“Bullshit.” He flicks Totsuka on the forehead.

Totsuka rubs at the spot, pouting a little. “It’s just that I don’t know what the line is between what I should say as your therapist and what I should say here as… Well, you know. I’ve never done this before.”

“I’d rather you just say what you want to say,” Mikoto replies. “And you’ve never done what before?”

“Been… friends with a patient.”

Mikoto snorts. “Are we  _ friends _ ?” It seems like a bit of an oversimplification, to say the least. 

“Aren’t we?” Totsuka asks sweetly, but his grin is cheeky. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Mikoto mutters. “What about Yata? Aren’t you friends?”

“Eh? Why would you assume that?” Totsuka asks, amused.

“I thought he was your favorite.”

“It would be unprofessional to have favorites,” Totsuka says primly, but then he grins. “If I did, though, it would be Fushimi.”

Mikoto makes a face. “Huh? Why Fushimi?” 

“He’s interesting,” Totsuka says secretively.

“You like the difficult cases,” Mikoto surmises.

“Something like that.” Totsuka’s smile is small and private. He turns back around to focus on tossing the vegetables into a salad.

“That kid really hates me,” Mikoto complains.   
  
“Fushimi?” Totsuka asks, but he doesn’t really seem too surprised. “Why do you say that?”

“He’s always giving me this death glare,” Mikoto says. “Or does he look at everyone like that?”

Totsuka chuckles. “Well, I think it might have to do with Yata’s new job.”   
  
“Why? He hates Yata so much he doesn’t want him to have a  _ job _ ?”   
  
“Would you believe me if I said they’re best friends?”

“You’re joking,” Mikoto mutters. 

Totsuka pulls two glasses out of a cupboard and sets them on the kitchen table, and then turns to the fridge to grab a pitcher of water. When he shuts the door, Mikoto’s eyes turn back to Munakata’s name. 

“What did he say to you?” he asks.

“Who?” Totsuka turns off the burner and gets to plates out of a different cabinet.

“Munakata, on that day he came to your place.”

“Oh.” Totsuka hesitates. “Take a seat,” he says, and Mikoto sits at the small kitchen table, watching him scoop out rice and curry onto two dinner plates. He sets one in front of Mikoto, before sitting down with his own plate. “He told me,” Totsuka says, after taking a bite, “that lying to the police wasn’t part of client-patient confidentiality. And he told me that if there was some  _ personal _ reason why I was willing to get myself involved in this mess, then I was unprofessional and should remove myself as your therapist immediately.” His imitation of Munakata’s cadence is nearly perfect. Mikoto frowns at him, and Totsuka points to Mikoto’s plate with his chopsticks. “Eat, before it goes cold.”

Mikoto obliges, taking a bite. “What an asshole,” he mutters around the mouthful of food.

Totsuka smiles at him, but it’s self-deprecating. “Well, he’s not wrong. It is unprofessional. And unethical.”

“That’s why you stopped the one-on-ones.”

“Yeah. Being…  _ friends  _ is one thing, but anything else will have to wait until your hours are done,” Totsuka says.

Mikoto’s not sure why the “anything else” weighs so heavily on him.

They finish their dinner in a comfortable silence. Then, after Totsuka clears their plates, he throws a dish towel at Mikoto. He catches it reflexively and, hesitating, he watches Totsuka fill the sink with soapy water and realizes he’s meant to help. It should be weird, standing in Totsuka’s kitchen, drying his dishes, but Totsuka hums as he washes, and even when their elbows bump, it’s not too bad at all.

He wonders, stomach still twisting at the implied future of their relationship, what exactly Totsuka expects will happen after Mikoto’s hours are completed. 

If he’ll be disappointed.

“What’s wrong?” Totsuka asks, breaking Mikoto out of his daze.

“Huh?”

Totsuka reaches up with soapy fingers to smooth out Mikoto’s furrowed brow, and Mikoto's pulse races at the touch. “You’re thinking too hard about something,” Totsuka says.

“I’m not good at this stuff,” he says.

“Drying dishes?” Totsuka teases, and Mikoto gives him a flat look.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been... in a relationship.” The words are heavy and awkward on his tongue. Totsuka must have figured this out by now, but Mikoto figures he should be clear.

He’s not sure how he’s expecting Totsuka to react, but Totsuka just shrugs. “I’m not sure if I’m good at this stuff,” he says, “since I’ve never been in one.”

Mikoto stills. “What?”

“I mean, I date and stuff,” Totsuka says, without a hint of embarrassment, “but I’ve never really been interested enough in anyone for anything more. Well, not until…”

_ Not until now, _ Mikoto finishes mentally. “Oh.”

“So I just thought we’d worry about that when we get there. Just see what happens.” He sounds so casual, and it somehow relaxes Mikoto. 

“Is that so?” Mikoto says dryly. Totsuka sticks out his tongue playfully, and Mikoto chuckles. He tries to imagine what it would be like to take Totsuka out on a date, and his mind immediately conjures up the image of the night they’d smoked together outside Homra, when Totsuka had stood too close, pretty under the dim streetlights. “You were going on a date that night,” he says.

“What night?” Totsuka asks.

“The night you stopped at Homra.”

Totsuka chuckles. “I was. How did you know? That wasn’t in the police report,” he teases.

“You were wearing cologne.” 

Totsuka blinks, taken aback, and then his lips twitch. “I was.” There’s a heavy moment of silence before he continues. “It wasn’t a very good date, though, even before getting jumped,” he jokes. “You’re very distracting. Especially since I…” He flushes, then, and Mikoto raises a brow, interested in that reaction. Totsuka doesn’t embarrass very easily. 

“Since what?”

Totsuka laughs, cheeks pink. “Nothing, nothing.” He’s looking down into the sink where he’s scrubbing at a pot. Mikoto grabs his wrist and pulls it from the soapy water, forcing him to look up at him. Totsuka’s eyes darken, like he’s accepted the challenge, and he licks his lips. “Since I could taste your cigarettes all night.”

They both freeze, staring each other down, waiting to see who will break the thick silence brought on by Totsuka’s words. 

The way Mikoto sees it, there are two courses of action he can take tonight. One, he can let go of Totsuka’s wrist, finish the dishes, and then go back to Homra, keeping a tight lid on the want deep in his belly. Or two, he can pull Totsuka in and close the space between them. One is what he probably should do, and the other is what he wants to do, and Mikoto’s always been better at the latter. 

He tugs on Totsuka’s wrist and Totsuka lets himself be pulled in, his wet, soapy hands dampening Mikoto’s white T-shirt as he clutches at it. As Mikoto leans down, Totsuka pushes up onto the tips of his toes and their lips meet. It’s not as gentle as their first kiss had been, but the desperation almost makes it sweeter, as Totsuka opens his mouth to deepen it. Mikoto cups Totsuka’s cheeks and presses in even closer, and Totsuka moans at the first brush of Mikoto’s tongue in his mouth. They kiss until they can’t breathe, and when they separate to get some air, Mikoto realizes he’s backed Totsuka up so that he’s trapped between Mikoto’s hips and the kitchen sink. Totsuka’s hands are still tangled in his shirt, but when Mikoto leans down to get back to what they were doing, Totsuka presses his fingers to Mikoto’s lips. “Wait,” he says, and his voice is even lower and raspier than when Mikoto had called him in the middle of the night. 

Sensing that he should pull back, Mikoto puts some space between them, and Totsuka lets his hand fall from Mikoto’s face. 

They stare at each other for a moment.

“I should get going,” Mikoto says eventually.

“That’s probably a good idea,” Totsuka says, voice still shaky. “You’re not the only one who’s having a hard time with the rules.” Totsuka smiles wryly. 

He walks Mikoto back over to the front door and watches him tie his boots and shrug on his coat. “I’ll see you Thursday.”

Mikoto gives him a look. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”   
  
“Are you really going to walk me home every night?” Totsuka asks, like he’s complaining.

“Yeah.” 

Totsuka shakes his head. “I told you that I’ll be fine.”

“And I told you that your optimism is annoying.”

Totsuka sticks out his tongue again, his childishness diffusing some of the lingering tension. “Good night, Suoh-san!” he sing-songs, and Mikoto rolls his eyes.

“Night,” he says, shutting the door behind him as he leaves.

  
  
  
  


“That took you awhile,” Kusanagi says, when Mikoto gets back to Homra.

“Stopped to eat,” Mikoto explains shortly.

“To eat?” Kusanagi raises a brow. “Where?”

“Totsuka’s.” He circles around the bar to grab a beer, and then sits at his usual spot. 

Kusanagi stills. “Wait, you had dinner at… your therapist’s?”

“Yeah?” Why is Kusanagi looking at him like that?

“Was it like an extra session or something?”

“What? No.”

Kusanagi scrunches his nose. “Are you, like…  _ friends _ with your therapist? Is that allowed?”

_ Friends, _ Mikoto thinks. That word again. He just shrugs.

“You’re not being blackmailed by some middle-aged man or something, are you?” 

“Huh?” Mikoto frowns. “You think I’d let someone force me to be their friend?”

Kusanagi considers that. “No, I guess not.” He stares at Mikoto, like he’s trying to read his mind. “Is it because you feel bad about the Kurayama thing?”

Mikoto’s frown deepens. “You think I’d let someone guilt me into being their friend?”

Kusanagi just laughs. “Right. I’m just surprised, I guess.” 

Mikoto is sure that Kusanagi is imagining an old man in a turtleneck and a blazer with those weird elbow patches, and not Totsuka, with his bright young eyes and even brighter smile. He tries to imagine how surprised Kusanagi would be to learn that they’re not  _ friends,  _ not exactly, but he figures that that’s a conversation best saved for when he’s out of court-mandated therapy and nobody’s trying to kill anyone anymore.


	6. solving problems without anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is staying safe & healthy! <3

The more time that passes in silence, without hearing from Kurayama, the uneasier Mikoto grows. “Maybe he was just bluffing,” Kusanagi suggests, when not even his extensive list of contacts is able to track Kurayama down. Mikoto had asked him to reach out to a few people, figuring that if he could find Kurayama first, he could put an end to all this bullshit without anyone else getting hurt. 

Mikoto reminds Kusanagi of Totsuka’s bruised cheek and split lip, proof that he’s intent on violence. Mikoto’s not sure what he’s planning, exactly, but he must be planning  _ something,  _ and so nobody lets their guard down.

Kamamoto and Yata continue to watch over Honami and Anna; they escort them to school and then home again, and then someone makes sure to keep an eye on them when they go out to do their errands. Sometimes, they report to Mikoto about the man who sometimes hangs around Honami’s house. “He’s really nice,” Yata says gently, like he’s breaking bad news to Mikoto. Even Kusanagi watches Mikoto’s reaction closely, like the fact that Honami has a boyfriend is supposed to matter to him or something.

Meanwhile, Mikoto keeps an eye on Totsuka, perhaps a closer eye than he lets on to Kusanagi. Like Yata and Kamamoto, Mikoto makes sure Totsuka gets to work in the morning, and then home again in the evenings. But sometimes, Totsuka invites him in for dinner, or to watch a movie he thinks Mikoto will like. Sometimes, Totsuka texts him when he wants to go to the market or to get coffee. Mikoto follows along, under the guise of  _ security,  _ when really, it feels like something else. 

Well, it almost feels like  _ dating,  _ if that was something that Mikoto actually did. 

Despite all the time they’ve been spending together, there have been no repeats of their first dinner together, where they’d given into their impulses. It’s frustrating, especially when their eyes would meet and Mikoto could tell, as their fingers brushed, or as they sat too close together on Totsuka’s couch, that Totsuka was fighting it just as hard as he was. But they were already dancing dangerously around that line, that line between  _ friendship  _ and something more, and as long as Totsuka was technically his therapist, it was better not to cross it. 

It’s annoying, to feel like he’s constantly waiting for something -- for his hours to end, for Kurayama to show up again.

On Thursday, in group, it’s hard to shake the feeling that something is off. Mikoto knows when he’s being watched, and he can tell that Eric isn’t listening to a single word anyone else is saying, even if when Mikoto tilts his head to look at him, Eric always manages to look away. He can tell Totsuka notices, too, by the way his mouth turns into a frown every time he looks at Eric.

When group is over, and everyone starts getting up, Eric shuffles over to Totsuka, fidgeting nervously. “Can I talk to you, Totsuka-san?” he asks quietly. Mikoto freezes, gut twisting with suspicion. 

“Of course,” Totsuka says kindly. 

“Can we…” Eric looks around, and realizes that Mikoto’s watching them. He snaps his attention back to Totsuka. “Can we go outside?”

“Sure,” Totsuka says. He shrugs on his coat and calls out, “Yata, I’ll be back in a minute to help clean up.”

Yata gives him a thumbs-up and a huge grin. “I’ve got it under control, Totsuka-san!”

Smiling, Totsuka puts a gentle hand on Eric’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Mikoto frowns; wanting privacy isn’t exactly unreasonable, but he doesn’t like that Eric is trying to get Totsuka alone, away from everyone else. So he trails behind them, leaving some distance between them so as not to be seen. They settle in a dark corner of the alleyway that’s right beside the community building. Eric is whispering something nervously, and Totsuka’s leaning in close, expression twisted with concern. Mikoto’s stomach lurches when Eric’s hand, which had been shoved into his hoodie pocket, whips out and…

Mikoto’s got his hand wrapped around Eric’s wrist immediately, both Totsuka and Eric gaping at him in surprise. Belatedly, Mikoto realizes Eric’s just holding his phone, and after a moment of consideration, he lets go of Eric’s wrist.

Eric is looking at him nervously. “Suoh Mikoto,” he says. “The Red King.”

Mikoto narrows his eyes. He doesn’t trust this kid, and from the glare he’s giving Mikoto, he doesn’t trust Mikoto much, either. “Who are you working with?” he asks, taking a step towards Eric, but Totsuka grabs his hand, stilling him. 

“It’s okay,” Totsuka says gently. “Eric, whatever you need to talk to me about, does it have to do with him?” He tilts a head towards Mikoto.

Eric hesitates, glancing between them uncertainly. But then his eyes flick down to where Totsuka’s still holding Mikoto’s hand in his, and he nods. 

“Then spit it out,” Mikoto says impatiently, and Totsuka squeezes his hand.

“Is everything okay?” a voice calls, and they all turn to look over. It’s a serious-looking guy, dressed in a baggy black sweater, his bright red hair a coppery version of Mikoto’s. 

“Kousuke,” Eric says, moving to stand beside him.

“Hey,” the guy says quietly, and then he looks at Totsuka. “Hey, Totsuka-san.”

“Hey, Fujishima,” Totsuka says with a smile, and this, Mikoto thinks, must be the colleague that had introduced Eric to him. “I think we all have some things to talk about.”

“Have you told them yet?” Fujishima asks Eric, and Eric shakes his head. 

Eric shivers, probably freezing in his thin hoodie, and Totsuka must notice because he puts a hand on Eric’s shoulder. “Why don’t we go back inside and talk?” he asks. “You, too, Fujishima.”

After a moment, Eric nods, and Totsuka leads them back into the building. Yata looks between them, confused, when he sees them all. “Did you forget something?” he asks.

“No, we’re just talking,” Totsuka says. “Don’t worry about us.”

Eric casts a glance over at Yata and frowns. “If you’re working with  _ him,” _ he says, eyes flicking to Mikoto, “then you should probably hear this.”

Yata frowns. “What’s going on?”

Since Yata’s already stacked the chairs, they just stand around, all staring at Eric.

“What is it, Eric?” Totsuka asks.

Eric licks his lips. He’s standing beside Fujishima, so close their shoulders are touching, and he leans into him a bit. “When you joined our group, I knew who you were immediately,” he says to Mikoto. “I was with Hikawa for most of my life.” 

Mikoto stills, eyeing Eric suspiciously. He’d figured out the first part, that Eric had recognized him, but hearing that name is a bit of a shock. He’d dealt with the Hikawa group a few times, back in the day, and they hadn’t been very good experiences.

“Our boss never liked you,” Eric continues, “and he was friends with Kurayama.” He takes a shuddering breath, and Fujishima lays a comforting hand on his back. “I’m not with them anymore, since I’ve been trying to get off the streets, but I still know people, and still hear things, and…”

“You heard that something is going down,” Mikoto surmises.

Eric nods. “Tomorrow night,” he confirms. “Someone’s going after Totsuka-san, a kid, and Homra. They know where everyone lives. And since the bar will be busy, it’ll be easy to create a diversion. That’s what they said, at least.”

Mikoto considers the information, still eyeing Eric distrustfully. There was still the possibility that he was lying about having left Hikawa, and this could all be a trap. “Won’t they know it was you who warned us?” he asks.

Eric fidgets under his gaze, obviously uncomfortable with being the center of attention for this long. “I don’t want anything to happen to Totsuka-san,” he says quietly.

Fujishima rubs his back. “It was the right thing to do.”

“It was,” Totsuka says gently. His expression is concerned, and Mikoto knows that Totsuka doesn’t doubt what Eric is telling them. Then he looks up at Mikoto. “What should we do?”

Mikoto sighs, already pushing a cigarette between his lips. This is what he’d been avoiding, all these years, after all; being treated as some de facto leader. But Totsuka is looking up at him with those trusting eyes, and he thinks of Anna, an unknowing target. He pulls out his phone and dials Kusanagi’s number, who answers after a few rings. “Hey,” Mikoto says. “Think you can close early?”   
  
  


Mikoto leads the pack as they walk to Homra together. He can hear Totsuka and Fujishima chatting quietly, and then behind that, the roll of Yata’s skateboard. 

Eric appears at his side, and Mikoto tenses. 

“You don’t trust me,” Eric says.

“No,” Mikoto replies flatly.

Eric frowns. “I don’t trust you either. But I trust Kousuke, and Kousuke trusts Totsuka-san, so.”

“And all this is about helping Totsuka?” Mikoto still sounds skeptical.

Eric’s silent for a moment, and Mikoto thinks maybe he’s done talking, but then he sighs like he’s annoyed. “My first session with Totsuka-san was a one-on-one,” he says, so quietly that Mikoto can hardly hear him. “He asked me a question that I didn’t like, and I lost it. I could have really hurt him, but…” He takes a shuddering breath. “Even after all that, he’s kind to me, and he’s still trying to help me. I owe him.”

Mikoto still doesn’t trust the kid, exactly, but the story rings true. And feeling indebted to Totsuka’s kindness, that was something Mikoto could relate to. “Fine,” he says eventually, and after a beat, Eric falls back, sticking close to Fujishima.   
  


By some miracle, Kusanagi has managed to clear Homra of any customers by the time Mikoto returns with a small army behind him. Kusanagi watches wearily as he steps through the door, Totsuka by his side, followed closely by Yata, and then Eric and Fujishima trailing behind him. 

“What’s going on, Mikoto?” Kusanagi asks, eyeing the unfamiliar faces.

“This kid has some information,” Mikoto replies, flicking his eyes to Eric, who looks tense being in, what was until recently, technically enemy territory. 

“Is this about Kurayama?” Kusanagi asks, and Mikoto nods. Kusanagi sighs. “Everyone grab a seat. I need a drink for this.”

Everyone shucks their coats, and Mikoto watches Totsuka look around Homra with obvious interest. Mikoto sits between Totsuka and Kusanagi at the bar, and Yata, Eric and Fujishima sit together at the closest booth. 

“Before we begin,” Kusanagi says, after taking a sip of his whiskey, “who are you guys?”

Yata enthusiastically takes over the introductions. “This is Eric from our group, and his friend…” He trails off, realizing he doesn’t actually know who Fujishima is.

“Fujishima Kousuke,” Fujishima supplies patiently.

“Right,” Yata says, like he’d known that. “And that’s Totsuka-san.”

Kusanagi’s eyes slide over to Totsuka, and Mikoto can tell he’s filling in the gaps with this new information, putting Totsuka’s face to every story he’s heard, like the assault and the dinners and all the time Mikoto’s been spending with him. Kusanagi’s gaze falls to Mikoto, an interesting mix between confused and judgmental, and Mikoto has nothing to say, so he stares back at Kusanagi impassively.

Totsuka leans past Mikoto to talk to Kusanagi. “You’re Kusanagi-san, I take it?” he says politely. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Kusanagi raises a brow. “He’s been talking about me in therapy?” 

Totsuka laughs, all charm. “Ah, I’m afraid that’s confidential,” he says playfully, and that, too, has Kusanagi flicking his eyes to Mikoto.

With everybody introduced, Eric launches into his story again, this time in greater detail. When he’s done, Kusanagi’s eyes are narrowed, no doubt at the mention of their old rivals. Mikoto’s sure Kusanagi isn’t trusting Eric entirely, but as someone far more pragmatic than Mikoto, he’s able to push aside any suspicion to get to the issue at hand. 

“So they’re planning on kidnapping Anna and Totsuka, and using them to lure Mikoto into a trap?” Kusanagi summarizes. 

Eric nods. “That’s what I heard.”

“Then I’ll just fight him now,” Mikoto says, spoiling for a fight.

Kusanagi’s lips twist into a frown. “How? I haven’t been able to get in touch with anyone who can find him.” He glances at Eric.

“Even I don’t know where to find him,” Eric says. 

Mikoto lets out a frustrated grunt.

“I know this might sound crazy,” Totsuka says casually, “but have you thought about calling Munakata?”   


The room goes silent. Kusanagi snickers, and then tries to cover it with a cough. Mikoto scowls, but he knows that Totsuka knows exactly how Mikoto feels about Mikoto, and isn’t suggesting this lightly. “Why bother getting that guy involved?” Mikoto mutters.

“He already is involved, though,” Totsuka points out. “Kurayama is still wanted for my assault.”

Mikoto frowns. Everything within him is screaming  _ fuck no!  _ because having to ask Munakata for help is one of the worst things he can think of.

“It might be the best thing to do, Mikoto,” Kusanagi says, sighing. “Things aren’t like they used to be.”

“I’m not calling him,” Mikoto says petulantly. 

Totsuka chuckles and pats Mikoto’s knee. “I’ll do it.” He leaves his hand there as he pulls out his phone and dials. “Hello, this is Totsuka Tatara calling for Munakata Reisi,” he says politely. “Thank you.” He waits a few moments, then, “Hello, Munakata-san. It’s Totsuka Tatara. Yes.” His lips twitch as he fights a smile. “I’ve recently happened upon some information about Kurayama Mitsuha. Can we meet?” Totsuka hums. “Tomorrow. Yes. Are you familiar with bar Homra?” His eyes meet Mikoto’s, and they’re sparkling with mischief. Mikoto feels a rush of fondness. “Okay. Yes, tomorrow. See you then.” He ends the call and slides the phone back into his pocket. “He agreed to meet us tomorrow,” he confirms.

“Great,” Mikoto says sarcastically. Totsuka squeezes his knee.

“If we’re all meeting tomorrow,” Kusanagi says lowly, “you should probably call Honami.”

“I know.” Guilt curls in his stomach at the thought of bringing Anna and Honami back here again for something like this.

Totsuka clears his throat. “I should get going,” he says. “I have work early tomorrow.” He gets up and grabs his coat. 

Mikoto is about to get up himself to walk Totsuka home, when Yata suddenly jumps up. “I’ll come with you,” he says.

Mikoto wants to say no, that he’ll take Totsuka home, and he must be easy to read now, because when Totsuka meets his eye, he smiles knowingly. “Thanks, Yata,” he says. “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

Eric and Fujishima get up to leave with Totsuka and Yata, too, bowing politely as Totsuka waves goodbye. Mikoto watches them leave Homra and disappear out of sight through the large tinted windows. He and Kusanagi sit in silence for a moment, until Kusanagi says, casually, “So that’s your therapist.” 

“Yeah.”

“He wasn’t what I expected,” Kusanagi says. “He’s…”   
  
“Young?” Mikoto supplies, before Kusanagi can say anything else -- like  _ pretty _ or  _ kind _ or  _ far too comfortable with Mikoto. _

Kusanagi watches him closely. “Yeah,” he says, after a beat.

  
  


🔥

The meeting the next day is tense.

Anna and Honami are the first to arrive, escorted by Kamamoto. After everyone had left the previous day, Mikoto had called Honami and explained the situation to her. She’d taken things in stride, as she always did, and agreed to meet them in the evening, after she and Totsuka were done work. 

Like last time, Anna runs immediately up to Mikoto to stare at him. “Hi, Mikoto,” she says quietly.

“Hey,” he replies, watching her dubiously.

Honami chuckles and helps Anna out of her coat. She smiles at Mikoto, but it’s too tense. “Hi, Suoh-kun,” she says, and she sounds exhausted. He nods at her, and, distantly, he thinks that he shouldn’t expect to see Anna again after this, and he wouldn’t blame Honami. Normal people shouldn’t have to go through this shit.

This time when Kusanagi offers Anna a drink, she accepts shyly. Kusanagi disappears and returns with some kind of hot chocolate creation, topped with so much whipped cream Mikoto doesn’t think the kid will ever sleep again. As she sticks her spoon into the white frothy mountain, Kusanagi puts a glass of wine at the spot beside Anna, unprompted. Honami gives him a small grateful smile.

“Something happened, right?” she asks carefully.

“Yeah,” Mikoto says.

“But it’s gonna be okay,” Kusanagi adds quickly, glancing down at Anna. “We’re gonna figure something out.”

Totsuka arrives early in the evening, after his workday is over, with Yata in tow, and Eric and Fujishima trailing behind them. He smiles as he enters, but then he spots Anna sitting at the bar beside Mikoto, and his eyes widen.

“Anna-chan!” Yata calls delightedly, and runs over to her.

“Misaki,” Anna says in greeting, her eyes bright.

“Totsuka-san, this is Anna and Honami,” Yata says, and Mikoto snickers, because it’s kind of endearing that Yata is the one to introduce them, somehow bridging the messy parts of Mikoto’s life.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Totsuka says politely, like he hasn’t heard about them in great detail, for weeks. “Sorry I’m late.”

He must have stopped at home before coming to Homra, because when he unzips his jacket, he’s not in his usual work clothes, but worn skinny jeans and a soft read sweater. Mikoto’s eyes are trained on delicate lines of Totsuka’s collarbone revealed by the V of Totsuka’s sweater when he hears Kusanagi call his name. “What?” Mikoto says, refocusing.

“I said, what time is Munakata coming at?” Kusanagi’s frowning at him.

“He said seven o’clock,” Mikoto says, looking away as he feels Kusanagi and Honami’s eyes on him.

Mikoto expects Munakata to be the next person to show, but instead it’s another smart-ass in glasses.

“Saruhiko, what are you doing here?” Yata asks, frowning. “I didn’t tell you about it so that you’d come.”

“Someone has to make sure you don’t get yourself killed,” Fushimi says with disdain, in the most reluctant act of protectiveness Mikoto’s ever seen. Fushimi sits in a corner, away from everyone else, arms crossed stubbornly. 

Mikoto would have been more surprised to see him if Totsuka hadn’t explained their complicated friendship.

“Oi,” Kusanagi mutters to Mikoto. “When did we collect so many kids?”    
  
Mikoto shrugs.

When Munakata finally does show up, he’s barely recognizable, with a dark beanie pulled down to cover his hair, oversized sunglasses and a fluffy scarf obscuring his face.

Mikoto scoffs. “Is that really necessary?” 

“It is if someone is watching this place,” Munakata says frankly, unzipping his puffy winter coat. “And I suspect someone is.” They all watch him peel off his disguise, revealing a pair of jeans and a crisp blue button-up. This is, Mikoto thinks, the first time he’s seen Munakata out of uniform in all the years he’s known him, but when he replaces the sunglasses with his usual frames, he looks the same as always.

He looks around the room, calculating, eyes lingering on Anna for a moment before settling his gaze on Totsuka. “I think you need to tell me what's going on now, Totsuka-kun,” he says sternly.

Totsuka repeats everything that Eric had told them yesterday, careful to keep his name out of it, until Munakata interrupts him.

“And why, exactly, is this child being targeted?” he asks, eyeing Anna curiously.

Totsuka licks his lips. “Uh, well, she’s…”

“My kid,” Mikoto says shortly, ripping off the Band-Aid to face Munakata’s judgment head-on.

Munakata’s gaze goes sharp as he looks between Anna and Mikoto, but he simply says, “I see,” and refocuses his attention on Totsuka, a silent prompt for him to continue.

Totsuka finishes his rundown of everything that’s been happening in the past month or so, and when he’s done, Munakata glares coldly at Mikoto. “So that man has been threatening you for weeks, or months,” he says blandly, “and you’ve only contacted us now.”

Mikoto glares back. “Wasn’t my idea to call you in the first place. I can handle myself.”

“Oh?” Munakata asks, in that haughty tone of his. “And what was your plan? To let that man here, spoiling for a fight? Or was it to seek him out and get yourself killed?”

Mikoto pushes down the urge to punch Munakata square in that smug face. “Better than sitting around doing nothing,” he snarls, “which is what you always do.”

Totsuka clears his throat. “I actually had an idea,” he says. “If you don’t mind.”

Munakata pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Go ahead,” he says tersely.

“Munakata-san, you’ve been having trouble locating Kurayama and his crew, too, right?”

Munakata nods. “They have been rather elusive,” he confirms.

“Well, I was thinking, since they’re already planning on kidnapping me or whatever, I might as well let them.”

Mikoto clenches his jaw. This isn’t something Totsuka had ever mentioned to him.

Munakata narrows his eyes at Totsuka. “You want to act as bait,” he says speculatively. 

“Something like that. I already know that guy and some of his friends, and I think that I could buy us some time. Or I get them to talk. You know, say something incriminating, reveal something shocking.” Totsuka grins. “Can you put a wire on me, or is that only on TV?”

The room is completely silent, until Kusanagi says, “Oi, are you completely  _ stupid _ ?”

Munakata, though, seems to be mulling it over. “You’re willing to put yourself in danger to help these people?” 

Totsuka smiles, one of those sweet, bright smiles. “Well, I’m already in danger,” he says. “And of course I want to help my… friends.” His eyes flick to Mikoto briefly, and Mikoto swallows harshly. 

Munakata turns to Mikoto. “And what do you think of this idea, Suoh?” he asks curiously. 

Mikoto frowns, remembering how Totsuka had looked with his split lip and bruised cheek.  _ Of course _ he didn’t want Totsuka to have to get involved with Kurayama and his men again.  _ Of course _ he wanted to say fuck no, they’d find another way to end this all. But wouldn’t it be the height of hypocrisy for him to sit here and tell Totsuka what to do, tell everyone what to do, as if he were some kind of leader? 

After a tense moment, he opens his mouth and says, “It’s up to Totsuka.” He thinks that if anyone can understand what that answer really means, it’s Totsuka. Totsuka gives him a small, gentle smile, and Mikoto figures that maybe he does understand.

“I see,” Munakata says neutrally, and then he stands. “I need to discuss this with a colleague. Excuse me.”

Kusanagi gestures towards the hallway. “Kitchen’s right through there, if you want a quiet spot,” he says.

Munakata nods, pressing his phone to his ear. “It’s Munakata,” he says, and then he’s far enough away that they can’t hear anything else.

There’s a tense silence until Yata breaks it. “Are you sure you want to do this, Totsuka-san?” he asks with a frown.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Fushimi says quietly, arms still crossed stubbornly. 

“We can figure something else out,” Kusanagi says. “Right, Mikoto?”

“I don’t give orders,” Mikoto replies.

Kusanagi’s jaw clenches, and Mikoto knows that it’s a conversation they’ve had one too many times before, years ago. “But this is…”

“Don’t worry, you guys,” Totsuka says, smiling softly. “It’s going to be fine. Besides, it’s not like I’m going at this alone. The chief of police is going to help us.”

That just makes both Mikoto and Kusanagi frown even deeper. “I need a drink,” Kusanagi mutters.

Tonight, Kusanagi offers them all a drink, like they’re having a birthday party and not a very serious meeting with law enforcement, though of course, the merriment is laced with obvious anxiety about the next day. When Munakata returns and sees them all with drinks in hand, he frowns in disapproval. 

“Munakata?” Kusanagi offers, shaking a near-empty bottle of liquor.

Munakata looks like he’s going to refuse, lips pressed together in a tight line, but then he sighs. “All right,” he says. “Thank you.” 

Once he has a drink in front of him, they get into the details of the plan. “Tomorrow morning, my colleague is going to deliver a parcel containing a microphone transmitter and GPS device, which is to be fixed to you, Totsuka-kun. I will be in a vehicle nearby, listening to the transmission. You are to go about your normal day until you make contact with the suspect. We will attempt to locate their headquarters, or record something incriminating, but if you are ever in clear and imminent danger, you are to alert us with a predetermined code, and we will evacuate you immediately.” Totsuka nods. “To avoid any unexpected interference until then, it would be best if you stayed here tonight. All of you,” he says, glancing at Honami and Anna.

Kusanagi frowns. “You don’t think that’ll be suspicious?”

“Perhaps,” Munakata says, “if you have a party tonight, that would explain why all of you would spend the night here.” He fixes his glasses. “I assume that’s something you’re capable of, since you’re already well on your way.” 

Kusanagi nods, but he still looks unsure. “Won’t it look strange when Mikoto lets him spend the day alone, when he’s been [watching over him for weeks]?”

Munakata eyes Mikoto knowingly, and Mikoto hates it. “I suppose we’ll just have to hope that these hoodlums aren’t that clever.”

Kusanagi gives Mikoto a look. “Okay,” he says.

Munakata drains his glass and pushes it aside. “I need to go. You’ll receive more detailed instructions tomorrow morning. Please, try to be well-rested,” he says, eyeing them all dubiously.

Mikoto scoffs, but Totsuka just nods. “Of course. Thank you for your help,” he says diplomatically.

With Munakata gone, the mood lightens considerably. They do end up making a party of their evening; as the drinks keep flowing, they turn on some music and order some pizza. Kusanagi even has the mind to fix a CLOSED FOR A PRIVATE EVENT sign on the front door of the bar, just in case it seems suspicious that the bar is closed.

Mikoto watches from his usual spot at the bar as everyone mingles like they’re old friends, and not a weird mash-up of Mikoto’s past and very bizarre present. At one point, Honami strikes up a conversation with Totsuka, and Mikoto listens in, strangely nervous. Totsuka politely asks Honami what she does, and reacts enthusiastically when she tells him she’s a teacher. He asks a million questions about what grades and subjects she teaches, and listens intently to the answers. Mikoto stills when Honami asks, “What kind of work do you do, Totsuka-kun?”

Totsuka smiles. “Counselling,” he says.

Honami seems surprised, and Mikoto wonders if it’s because Totsuka looks so young, or if she’s trying to figure out how Mikoto knows someone like this. As she asks some follow-up questions, Mikoto moves his attention away from their conversation, to Anna, who seems strangely at ease here with a bunch of strangers who, he supposes, aren’t really strangers anymore.

The first ones to call it a night are, of course, Anna and Honami. Anna’s eyes grow heavy and she starts to waver on the barstool, barely able to keep herself upright. They all chuckle, and then Honami says, “It’s probably time for bed.”

“You guys can have my room,” Mikoto says, and then, after a moment of hesitation, he hoists Anna under one arm to carry her upstairs. It’s probably not the right way to carry a kid, if Honami’s amused smile means anything, but she doesn’t say anything and simply gets up to follow Mikoto as he leads them up the stairs and into his apartment.

Honami looks around with obvious interest, and Mikoto can’t help but think about how different this apartment is from his old one, the one Honami knew from all those years ago. This one is clean and tidy, if not a little bare, and nothing like where he’d lived when he was still a teenager.

“It’s a nice place,” she says, as Mikoto leads them down the short hallway. Mikoto nods and steps into his small bedroom, awkwardly depositing Anna onto the bed. “Why do you live here, and not Kusanagi-kun?” 

Mikoto shrugs. “He liked his apartment.”

“I see,” Honami says, and the tension is thick and awkward again. Mikoto’s about to step out when she adds, quietly, “Thank you.”

With his back to her, Mikoto grimaces. “Don’t thank me.” After all, it’s his fault that they’re in danger, and this is exactly what he’d warned her about all those years ago.

“You’re doing everything you can to keep us safe, so thank you,” she says kindly. “You’ve got some good friends down there.”

Mikoto just nods. “Bathroom’s down the hall.”

“Good night, Suoh-kun,” she says.   
  
“Night.”

  
  
  


With Honami and Anna in bed, the boys--except Totsuka-- start drinking a little harder, acting a little sillier, and Mikoto watches in amusement as they pass out one by one. Even Kusanagi falls asleep, head resting on his arms, passed out at the bar. Mikoto tries to wake him with a hand on his shoulder, as Totsuka covers the guys in blankets the best he can, but Kusanagi just mutters something under his breath, eyes still shut. Mikoto snickers, imagining what kind of backache Kusanagi’s going to have tomorrow from sleeping hunched over like that.

Totsuka surveys the room uncertainly, chewing on his lip. Following his gaze, Mikoto realizes that with the guys passed out on the couches and the more comfortable booths, there’s not really any place left for Totsuka to sleep.

“You can sleep upstairs,” Mikoto says evenly, reminding himself that it’s just for that-- sleeping.

There’s a different kind of tension when Mikoto leads Totsuka into his apartment. Briefly, he lets himself imagine what it would be like if they hadn’t met in therapy, if he was just bringing Totsuka home with him after meeting at a bar or something. He glances at Totsuka, whose cheeks are tinged pink, and Mikoto wonders if he’s thinking the same thing.

He digs through a closet to find a folded futon Kusanagi had given him when he’d moved in, and a pile of blankets, none of which he’d used since living here. He drops the futon on the floor beside the couch. “You can have the couch,” he says, tossing a couple of blankets on it.

Totsuka runs his fingers over the soft material of the blanket. “Thanks,” he says softly. He sounds tired. “Do you mind if I have a shower? It’s been a long day.” His smile is tight. “And I won’t be able to shower tomorrow at home, if I’m all wired up.”

“Sure.” He shows Totsuka the bathroom and hands him a towel, and, by some miracle, a clean T-shirt he found in a basket of laundry he hadn’t put away yet.

“Thanks,” Totsuka says, the tension still palpable, and Mikoto leaves him to it.

He strips off his jeans and settles into the futon. Listening to the shower running, he tries not to think about the fact that Totsuka is in his bathroom, naked, probably using his soap and shampoo.

He closes his eyes.

Totsuka emerges a few minutes later, and Mikoto keeps his eyes shut, not wanting to know what Totsuka looks like in his shirt, warm and shower-damp, because they’re supposed to be here to  _ sleep.  _ “Should I turn off the light?” Totsuka whispers. Mikoto grunts, and Totsuka must take it as a yes, because the light switches off, and Mikoto can hear Totsuka stumbling over to the couch. Once the rustling of blankets stops, Totsuka says, softly, “Good night.”

“Good night,” Mikoto replies stiffly, even though he knows he’s not going to sleep. There’s too much to think about, and it has his stomach in knots. Instead of trying to fall asleep, he stares at the ceiling, fists clenching and unclenching under his blanket.

Totsuka must sense his restlessness, because after a while, he whispers, “You awake?”

“Yeah,” Mikoto replies, even though he should probably just pretend to be asleep.

There’s more rustling on the couch, and then Totsuka says, “Move over.”

“Huh?”

Totsuka slides into bed beside him and pushes at his shoulder. “Roll over.” Confused, Mikoto rolls onto his side, so his back is to Totsuka. 

“What are you--”

Totsuka starts rubbing circles into Mikoto’s back, and Mikoto loses all capacity for speech. “Shh,” Totsuka shushes him, and he’s so close that Mikoto can feel his breath on the back of his neck. Gently, he works his hands all over his back, from the base of his neck down, dangerously close to the waistband of his boxer shorts. 

Mikoto supposes that, in a different context, without the thick tension between them, this might be relaxing, and so he tries to focus on the comfort of Totsuka’s touch instead of the fire that’s burning low in his belly at every pass of Totsuka’s hands.

“It’s gonna be fine tomorrow,” Totsuka says eventually.

“Your optimism is still annoying.” Mikoto sighs. “Why are you here?”

“Eh? I’m trying to get you to relax.” 

“No, why are you  _ here?” _

Totsuka’s hands still, but he doesn’t remove them from Mikoto’s back. “Ah, you mean trying to help arrest the men who assaulted me?”

“Yes.” He hates to agree with Munakata, but he was right. Totsuka may be involved in this whole mess, but he was putting himself in far too much danger.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Totsuka replies, like he doesn’t quite understand the question. Totsuka’s hands start rubbing in circles again, until Mikoto reaches back to grab his wrist. Totsuka’s breath catches as Mikoto rolls around and presses him into the futon so he can slide their mouths together.

Totsuka’s so soft and warm, and he smells like Mikoto, and it’s too easy to get lost in him. 

Mikoto would have expected Totsuka to be the one to rein him in, like last time, but Totsuka kisses him back with just as much hunger, wrapping his legs around Mikoto’s waist so there’s not an inch of space between them. Totsuka moans, and Mikoto can’t quite bring himself to break away long enough to tell him to be quiet.

It’s only when they hear a creaking noise that they pull apart, and through the fiery haze of desire, Mikoto remembers that there are people upstairs and downstairs who might see them, including a kid.  _ His  _ kid. 

They both still, and when the creaking stops, Mikoto figures they’re probably safe. He’s still on top of Totsuka, and when he looks down at him, he can make out the shape of his smile even in the dark. “I guess we should probably go to sleep,” Totsuka whispers.

“Yeah.”

Totsuka unwraps his legs from around Mikoto, and Mikoto rolls of him, giving him some space. But when Totsuka moves to return to the couch, Mikoto grabs his wrist. “What is it?” Totsuka asks.

“Don’t.”

“Okay,” Totsuka whispers, curling into his side. “Are you sure this is okay?” His lips are dangerously close to Mikoto’s throat. 

Mikoto swallows. “Yeah. Just sleep.”

There’s something almost soothing about having Totsuka so close, despite all the other chaotic things Totsuka makes him feel. Maybe it’s because he focuses on the steady rise and fall of Totsuka’s breathing, but, somehow, Mikoto is able to fall asleep.


	7. putting anger to good use

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am once again asking you to suspend your disbelief.
> 
> Hope everyone is staying safe! <3

When Mikoto opens his eyes, much earlier in the morning than he’d normally wake up, a pair of grey, intense ones are staring back at him.

“Mikoto,” Anna says softly. “Izumo said it’s time to get up.”

It takes him a minute for his mind to catch up, to remember why Anna’s in his apartment, why he’s sleeping on a futon in the living room, and why Kusanagi would be sending her to wake him up. “Okay,” he rasps, coughing to clear his dry throat. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

Anna nods once and then scurries out of the apartment, her footsteps so light Mikoto can barely even hear them. Once she’s gone, he flops back onto the futon, arm reaching over to rest on the spot beside him that had, when he’d fallen asleep last night, been occupied by a warm body. It’s cold now, and the only signs that Totsuka had been here are the neatly folded blanket on the couch and Mikoto’s T-shirt innocently folded on top. 

Yawning, Mikoto wonders if Totsuka had been the first one up, or if they’d been caught by Honami and Anna. Caught  _ snuggling.  _ It’s not that he’s worried about that-- he doesn’t care enough about what other people think of him to worry about something like PDA-- but it’s more that he doesn’t really want to talk about it, or have to explain it, especially not with Honami, who had told him wistfully not that long ago, with a sappy smile on her face, that one day he’d find  _ someone. _

With a groan, Mikoto rolls himself off the futon to take a quick shower, mentally preparing himself for the possibility that he’ll have to deal with both Munakata and Kurayama in the same day. He gets dressed, and before Kusanagi can send someone else after him, he heads downstairs to the bar. 

He stops at the top of the stairs for just a moment to just observe them. Kusanagi, Totsuka, and Honami are the only ones up apart from Anna, the three of them chatting quietly at the bar while the rest of the guys are still snoozing where they’d passed out last night. It’s not terribly surprising that they’d get along so well, since Kusanagi and Honami are old friends, and Totsuka is the type of person who could probably get along with anyone. 

He continues down the stairs, the steps creaking under his weight, and they all turn to look at him. “Yo,” he says unceremoniously.

“Morning,” the three of them say in unison, and Mikoto snickers.

He takes the empty seat beside Totsuka, and doesn’t miss the way Honami smiles into her mug when he does.

He sighs internally. Definitely been caught, then.

“Coffee?” Kusanagi asks, offering him a mug. Mikoto grunts in approval, not one to be particularly verbal in the morning, especially this early. “We’re still waiting for word from Munakata,” Kusanagi informs him.

Mikoto grunts again, reaching for his coffee. His eyes slide over to Totsuka, who should be feeling nervous about participating in some kind of stupid amateur undercover stint today, but is just smiling serenely at him.

“Did you sleep okay, Suoh-kun?” Honami asks kindly, but Mikoto thinks her eyes are glinting kinda evilly. “Since we had your bed, after all.”

“Fine,” he replies, sending her a dirty look.

Kusanagi is looking between them curiously, and Mikoto thinks he’s about to ask, but then Totsuka chuckles. “How did you sleep, Kusanagi-san?” Totsuka asks. “Your back must be sore from last night.”

“It is,” Kusanagi complains. “I’m too old for that. You should have woken me up.”

“We tried!” Totsuka says. 

“We did,” Mikoto confirms, chuckling.

It’s not long before there’s a buzz at the back door, where the delivery men usually go with shipments and packages for the bar. Kusanagi looks at them all quizzically before heading back to answer. 

With Kusanagi gone, Honami takes the opportunity to stare freely at Mikoto and Totsuka, eyes flicking between them with interest. Mikoto frowns at her, and that only makes her smile a little wider. Totsuka raises a brow at Mikoto’s grumpy face, but doesn’t ask.

Kusanagi returns with someone trailing behind him, a dark-haired man dressed in a post office uniform, carrying a standard-looking cardboard box. “I found an undercover cop,” Kusanagi announces.

The man raises a hand in greeting, looking slightly puzzled when he glances over at the sleeping boys in the corner. “Akiyama Himori,” he says. “I work under Captain Munakata.”

“Couldn’t have come himself?” Mikoto mutters in disdain.

As if summoned by Mikoto’s remark, a phone rings. Akiyama sets the box down on the bartop and pulls his phone from his pocket. “Yes,” he answers. “I’ll put you on speakerphone, Captain.”

_ “Good morning, everyone,”  _ Munakata says, voice pompous even over the phone.  _ “I trust you’re all prepared for the day ahead.” _

“We are, Munakata-san,” Totsuka replies politely.

“Are you?” Mikoto asks rudely. “You’re not even here. You got something better to do today?”

_ “Suoh, I see you’re as unpleasant over the phone as you are in person,”  _ Munakata retorts, and Mikoto bristles a little at having just had the same thought.  _ “I will be listening to the transmission at the station, with a colleague. I thought it would be best not to make another appearance at your bar.” _

“And are we going to join you?” Kusanagi asks.

_ “I don’t think that would be wise.” _

Mikoto frowns. So they’re just supposed to let Totsuka go on his merry way, and wait here until everything is over?

Akiyama opens the box he’d brought in, pulling out devices and wires that Mikoto assumes will be taped to Totsuka. “Are you ready?” he asks Totsuka.

Totsuka nods, getting up from his seat to stand beside Akiyama. 

“Best take that off,” Akiyama says, gesturing to Totsuka’s sweater. Totsuka lifts the sweater over his head, shivering slightly once shirtless in the cool air.

With all the commotion, the rest of the guys have woken up, watching curiously as Akiyama starts to place wires on Totsuka’s chest. Anna is watching intently, too. “Are you scared?” she asks him.

Totsuka looks surprised for a moment, but he smiles down kindly at her. “Not really,” he says. “I’ve got everyone looking out for me, so it’ll be fine.”

Mikoto hadn’t been sure if Anna really understood what was going on, but Honami’s always saying that she’s really smart for her age, so maybe he shouldn’t be surprised.

_ “Do the devices feel secure?”  _ Munakata asks, when Totsuka is sliding his sweater back on. 

“I think so,” he says, moving around slightly to test it out.

_ “Good. Be careful not to crush them or cause unnecessary friction, as that will interfere with our feed. So will getting them wet, of course.” _

“Got it,” Totsuka says. 

Munakata finishes the rest of his instructions, reiterating that he would be the one to contact them with any and all updates, and then Akiyama is packing up, leaving as quickly as he came. 

“That’s not fair,” Yata complains, once Akiyama is gone. “If we don’t get to listen, how will we know if Totsuka-san is okay?” Beside him, Fushimi looks thoughtful, but he says nothing.

“Don’t worry about it, Yata,” Totsuka reassures him. 

“You sure have a lot of faith in the cops,” Mikoto mutters.

Totsuka chuckles. “I have no choice, so I’m gonna hope for the best.”

_ That damn optimism again,  _ Mikoto thinks to himself, and by the way that Totsuka smiles at him, Mikoto thinks maybe he’s thinking the same thing.

“I should get going,” Tostuka says. “Can’t stay here all day.” He shrugs on his coat, careful not to zip it up all the way to his neck. Carefully, he loosely drapes his scarf around his neck. Everyone shouts words of encouragement and concern at him, to which Totsuka replies with a casual wave as he heads towards the door, like it’s just any other day. 

Mikoto escorts him out, and they stand together outside the door, for a moment of privacy. “Don’t do anything stupid,” Mikoto says.

“Who, me?” Totsuka replies, blinking innocently.

Mikoto’s not a particularly sentimental person, nor is he prone to outbursts of emotion or anything like that. But he’s suddenly overcome with the impulse to kiss Totsuka, and so, not being one to deny his impulses, he does, leaning down to capture his lips softly. He can feel the shape of a smile on Totsuka’s mouth, and when he pulls back, Totsuka snickers. “What?” Mikoto asks.

Totsuka takes Mikoto’s hand and presses it gently against his chest, and Mikoto is reminded that  _ yes, right, Munakata can probably hear everything they’re saying and doing right now. _ Because he does what he wants, Mikoto leans down again, kissing Totsuka until he’s nice and breathless. When they part, Totsuka shakes his head, exasperated. 

“I’ll see you later, okay?” Totsuka says.

“Later,” Mikoto echoes. Stomach twisting, he watches Totsuka disappear down the street, hoping that they’ve made the right call.

When he gets back inside, the atmosphere is tense and somber.

“Is Totsuka-san gone?” Fushimi asks, and, frankly, Mikoto is surprised that he’s even still there.

“Yeah,” Mikoto he says.

Silently, Fushimi grabs a backpack from under the booth. Mikoto hadn’t even noticed Fushimi that had brought it. He pulls out a computer and starts typing at an admittedly impressive speed. 

“What are you doing?” Yata asks, leaning over Fushimi’s shoulder to look at his screen.

“Give me a minute, Misaki,” Fushimi says quietly, but makes no move to push him away.

The sounds of the city street wash over Homra, playing from Fushimi’s computer. Everyone freezes.

Yata gapes, staring at the screen in amazement. “Is that…”

“Totsuka’s transmission?” Kusanagi finishes for Yata. “Did you just…  _ hack  _ into the police’s computer system?” he asks, visibly impressed.

Fushimi shrugs. “Wasn’t that hard,” he says.

“You’re the best, Saruhiko!” Yata exclaims, and Mikoto doesn’t miss the small, pleased smile on Fushimi’s face from Yata’s praise.

“Still, we can’t just sit around here all day listening to this,” Kusanagi says. “We need to open the bar, so it doesn't look suspicious.”

“Can we go home?” Honami asks quietly, and Mikoto grimaces at the pang of guilt. Kusanagi meets his eyes, and Mikoto shakes his head. 

“I think it’d be safest for us all to stay here,” Kusanagi says gently. “You can stay in Mikoto’s apartment, or hang with us in the bar. Fushimi, you listen to the feed. Let us know when Totsuka makes contact. Everyone else will just hang out in the bar like it’s a normal Saturday night.”

Everyone seems to agree with that, and so they do their best to get on with the day. Kusanagi makes them a big breakfast, then leaves it up to the younger guys to clean up. Honami tries to help, but Kusanagi shoos her away. Afterwards, Mikoto would normally take a nice, long nap, but he doesn’t want to be that far from Fushimi’s laptop, so he settles for sitting at his usual place at the bar and watching Kusanagi, Kamamoto and Yata do whatever it is they do to get ready to open. Anna sits beside him, quietly working on whatever homework she has with her.

“You wanna go upstairs and watch TV or something?” Mikoto asks her. She looks up from her notebook with that intense gaze of hers and shakes her head. 

The afternoon drags on painfully slowly. 

It helps when they open the bar in the evening, and the customers trickle in slowly. Honami and Anna head upstairs, since they’re trying to make it look like any other Saturday, in case any of Kurayama’s spies are bold enough to pay them a visit. They send Fushimi upstairs with his laptop, too, and he promises to let them know when he hears something important. Mikoto doesn’t  _ trust _ Fushimi, exactly, but he does realize that he’s analytical and intelligent, cut from the same cloth as Kusanagi no matter how different their wrapping. He’d know better than anyone if Totsuka is trying to tell them something. 

The bar is buzzing with customers when Mikoto’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He reaches for it with a raised brow -- the only people who ever text him, apart from Totsuka, are here. The message is from an unknown number, and it just reads:  _ You need to listen. _

Mikoto shouldn’t be surprised that Fushimi has his number, really. He gets up slowly, casually, as if his heart isn’t pounding in his chest at the thought that Kurayama already has Totsuka. He grabs Kusanagi’s attention with the tilt of his head, and together, they make their way up the stairs, Mikoto leading in his usual lazy pace. 

They find Fushimi sitting stiffly on the couch, computer on his lap, his face pinched into a frown. Mikoto’s not sure if he should be worried, since Fushimi pretty much always looks like that, at least around him. “What is it?” Mikoto asks, and wordlessly, Fushimi takes out his earbuds and holds them out for Mikoto and Kusanagi. They each take an ear and sit themselves on either side of Fushimi.

The random chatter of wherever Totsuka is is disorienting, and Mikoto tries his best to make out distinct voices. 

_ “Here you go,”  _ a deep, scratchy voice says.  _ “Have a nice night.” _

_ “Thank you!”  _ This voice, Mikoto knows, is Totsuka’s. 

Something about the first voice is familiar, too, and Mikoto tries to place it. “He’s at a bakery near his place,” Mikoto says when the realization hits him. “It’s open late on the weekends.”

“He’s right,” Fushimi confirms, eyes on his computer screen.

Kusanagi gapes at Mikoto. “How can you tell?”

“He’s talking to the owner,” Mikoto says, shrugging. Mikoto had seen him a couple of times when he’d accompanied Totsuka to that bakery. The man had looked more like an old yakuza boss than a friendly baker, and Mikoto had teased Totsuka about his apparent penchant for ex-gangsters.  _ “I’m friends with all sorts of people,”  _ Totsuka had replied sincerely.

Kusanagi gives him a look, and Mikoto can tell he thinks it’s strange that he would know that. He avoids the question by turning to Fushimi. “What made you think something’s going on?”

Fushimi frowns. “Totsuka-san said he was ordering something for his friends, and that he wanted to try something out of the usual,” he says. “I don’t know, but something about the way he said it… Something’s not right.”

Mikoto nods, trusting Fushimi’s instinct.  _ Friends… Out of the usual…  _ “He’s being followed,” Mikoto deduces. “He must have seen Kurayama’s guys.” He and Kusanagi share a serious look as they get back to listening intently. 

Totsuka must leave the bakery, because the background noise becomes even more indistinct, the microphone shifting a little with Totsuka’s every step. Just as Mikoto’s about to relax, Totsuka coughs once, loudly. 

“Something’s wrong,” Mikoto says, just as Totsuka sucks in a breath. 

_ “Nice to see you again, Totsuka Tatara.” _

It’s not Kurayama’s voice, so it must be one of the bastards that’d attacked Totsuka. Mikoto swears; he knows that this is the whole point of their little operation, for Totsuka to be bait for Kurayama, for Totsuka to lead them to him, but it still sets him on edge. He clenches his hands into fists. 

_ “Whatcha got there?”  _ another voice asks.

_ “I thought you guys might be hungry from all that stalking,”  _ Totsuka replies sweetly.  _ “Want one?” _

Kusanagi groans. “Is he trying to get himself killed?” he mutters.

_ “Ah, they’re for us?”  _ Goon 1 asks.  _ “Thought they were for your little friends at Homra.” _

There’s the sound of shuffling and Totsuka grunts.  _ “Not this again,”  _ he says.

There’s a series of thunking sounds, and Mikoto thinks it must be the slamming of car doors. 

_ “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Totsuka-kun,”  _ says a mocking voice, and there’s no doubt whose it is.

Kurayama. 

“Shit,” Fushimi swears.   
  
“What?” Kusanagi asks.

“I lost the GPS signal. It’s being blocked or something.” 

“Get it back,” Mikoto says, annoyed, and Fushimi glares at him. 

“I’m trying,” he says flatly. 

_ “I see we’ve graduated from assault to kidnapping,”  _ Totsuka says lightly.

Kurayama chuckles.  _ “Only the best for the Red King’s boyfriend,”  _ he says, tongue curling snidely around the word.  _ “I didn’t know Suoh liked dick, but he’s always been a bit of a mystery, I guess.” _

Kusanagi chokes beside him, but Mikoto doesn’t even spare him a glance. There are more important things to focus on. He’s just glad that Fushimi isn’t listening, or that Honami and Anna can’t hear.

_ “Are you jealous?”  _ Totsuka asks, slipping into the voice he uses in therapy when he asks a question to wheedle information out of you.

Kurayama snorts derisively.  _ “Right,”  _ he says sarcastically.  _ “Trust me, Suoh’s not my type.” _

There’s a tense silence and Mikoto tries not to let his imagination run wild. 

_ “I gotta tell you, I didn’t imagine your secret gang base would be in this part of town,”  _ Totsuka says casually.  _ “Right between a flower shop and a daycare?” _

There’s another silence, and Kurayama hums. _“How observant of you._ _Did you two idiots pat him down?”_ Kurayama asks, and Mikoto’s stomach drops.

_ “No,” _ Goon 1 says.

_ “No, boss,” _ Goon 2 says.

_ “Then allow me,”  _ Kurayama says.

Totsuka tsks.  _ “Get off--” _ he grunts, and Mikoto sees red.

“Mikoto,” Kusanagi warns knowingly.

“Fushimi, anything?” Mikoto grits out.

“Still no signal,” Fushimi replies. “But if we’re looking for a flower shop and a daycare, it can only be one block.

_ “Ah, what do we have here?”  _ Kurayama says, jostling the microphone.  _ “I would have expected Suoh to give you a knife, nto a wire.”  _ There’s more static, and then everything’s startlingly clear.  _ “Are you listening, Suoh?” _ Kurayama asks, voice clear. He must have the microphone close to his lips.  _ “I’m sure you are. Did you think you’d be able to resolve this with a few clever tricks?”  _ His voice is taunting.  _ “I don’t think so.” _

Mikoto stands. “Fushimi…”

“I’m  _ trying. _ ”

_ “You’ve got more of a head start than I would have liked,”  _ Kurayama continues, _ “but I’m feeling a little less patient now, too. I’ll see you soon.” _

_ “No,”  _ Mikoto can hear Totsuka cry out, but then there’s just garbled static.

“He must have crushed it,” Kusanagi says quietly.

“I’m going,” Mikoto says. “Which block, Fushimi?”

Fushimi shows him the map on his computer screen. “I’ll message you if I can get anything else from the GPS history,” he says.

Mikoto nods, grabbing his jacket.

“Mikoto,” Kusanagi says, “shouldn’t we wait for Munakata to call us?”

“No,” Mikoto says sharply.

Kusanagi sighs. “Then I’m coming with you.”

“No,” Mikoto says again.

“Then I’m calling Munakata,” Kusanagi says impatiently.

Mikoto tsks. “Do what you want.”

“At least promise me you’ll tell me when you find Kurayama’s location,” Kusanagi says. “They’re helping us for a reason.”

Mikoto takes a steady breath, counting to himself the way Totsuka had told him to, what feels like a lifetime ago. He’d thought it was stupid, back then. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll call you. Make sure Anna and Honami stay with Yata and Kamamoto.”

Without waiting for an answer, he practically sprints down the stairs and out of Homra. He can hear Yata calling after him, but he doesn’t so much as look back. With the traffic at this hour on a Saturday night, he figures it’ll be just as quick to go on foot. 

He stops in front of the bakery near Totsuka’s place, catching his breath. He looks around, as if he’ll be able to find some sort of proof that Totsuka was there. In the distance, he spots a familiar white box, and he runs over. Squatting down, he pokes at it: a dozen or so of Totsuka’s favorite chocolate chip cookies, smashed on the ground. This is where he was shoved into the car, then.

He continues his sprint, dodging the crowds of people heading to restaurants or standing outside of bars smoking and chatting. He stops when he reaches the block Fushimi had identified, and like Totsuka had commented, it’s surprisingly inconspicuous, with modest-looking storefronts. Desperately, he looks around. _ Where the fuck are you?  _ he thinks, willing the world to send him some kind of sign. He almost thinks he imagines it when his phone rings, as if in answer. With a frustrated grunt, he presses the phone to his ear. “What?”

_ “Mikoto-san,” _ Fushimi says,  _ “the last location on the GPS before it was destroyed is two blocks over.” _ He rattles off a range of addresses.  _ “It’s got to be somewhere around there.” _

“Thanks,” Mikoto says, shoving his phone back into his pocket without waiting for Fushimi’s reply and running in that direction.

The storefronts on this block are still all disappointingly normal-looking, and there’s no way for him to identify which one Totsuka’s in. 

“Come on, Totsuka,” he whispers to himself, looking around frantically. 

His eyes land on a single, perfectly shaped cookie, sitting on a doorstep.

Totsuka, that idiot, never lets him down.

Hand shaking, he texts the address to Kusanagi, who is, presumably, already in contact with Munakata. He’s not sure how much time he has before Munakata and his squad show up, and he still hasn’t decided if he’s going to use that time to stall or to beat Kurayama to a pulp.

The shop is a small, and the sign so old and faded Mikoto can hardly read it, but he thinks it says something dumb like “Fun Zone”. Stepping into the place, he realizes it’s a small arcade, with a few machines, a pool table, and a bar. It’s conspicuously empty for a Saturday night, with only a few of the patrons, indifferent-looking teenagers, turning to look at him when he enters. He ignores them completely and heads towards the back, where he finds a door marked for employees only. Pushing the door open, he follows the stairs down into a dank basement.

“There he is,” Kurayama announces patronizingly when Mikoto steps into the room, grinning broadly. “Suoh Mikoto, the Red King, our knight in shining armor.” He’s sitting at an old, worn table, but the rest of the basement is empty. Mikoto wonders if this is really where they do business, or if it’s just where they bring people to fight. 

“Fuck you,” he says, eyes flitting past Kurayama and the ten or so guys he has with him to seek out Totsuka. 

He looks cold in just a thin sweater, his arms wrapped around himself for warmth since he’s been stripped of his coat. Mikoto had expected Totsuka to look scared, or worried, but he mostly just looks annoyed. When their eyes meet, Totsuka smiles at him, and something about that steadies Mikoto.

Mikoto refocuses his gaze on Kurayama. “Okay, I’m here,” he says. “So tell everyone else to get the hell out. Unless you don’t think you can win one-on-one.” 

Kurayama’s grin sharpens at Mikoto’s taunt and he scoffs. “All right, all right. You heard him, guys.” He tilts his head, and the men make their way up the stairs, all except for one man, who’s sticking close to Totsuka, sipping on a bottle of beer like he’s watching a televised fight. 

“Totsuka, too,” Mikoto says. 

“Aw, now where’s the fun in that?” Kurayama laughs. “Shouldn’t he be here to watch you fight? The Adrian to your Rocky?” Kurayama shrugs off his leather jacket and raises his fists into a fighting stance. 

Mikoto sighs. Part of him had hoped that Munakata might get here in time, so he wouldn’t have to choose between not giving into Kurayama’s stupid requests and giving him what he deserves. 

Shifting his weight, he gets into his own fighting stance.

Kurayama is quick, and Mikoto is out of practice, and those two things work against Mikoto. But he’s strong, and in terms of raw, natural fighting power, Mikoto still has the edge, so he braces himself, blocking Kurayama’s blows the best that he can. Kurayama still lands a decent blow to his ribs, and then an elbow to his face. 

Mikoto spits, tasting blood. He’s not sure if it’s from his lip or his mouth, but either way, he barely registers it. It’s not like he hasn’t had worse, even if it was a while ago. He tries not to look over at Totsuka, not wanting to be distracted by what he might see on Totsuka’s face.

Kurayama laughs mockingly. “You’re really not gonna fight me, huh? Just gonna block me all day?” he sneers. “What’s the problem? Have you gotten soft, or you don’t want your boyfriend over there to see what a monster you really are?”

Mikoto chances a look at Totsuka then. He looks mad -- brow furrowed, a little angry pout on his lips. Maybe it’s because Totsuka’s angry in his place that Mikoto can so easily ignore Kurayama’s insults, staring back at him blankly.

Kurayama’s responding laughter is manic. “Do we need to raise the stakes, then?” he asks, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a gun. He waves it around, completely unhinged. “How about now?” he asks, aiming at Totsuka.

Before Mikoto can move, there’s a thundering noise above them.  _ Munakata, _ Mikoto thinks.

Kurayama looks away from Totsuka for just a second, distracted by the noise upstairs, and the scene plays out in front of Mikoto in slow motion: Quicker than Mikoto could have imagined, Totsuka grabs the beer bottle from the goon’s hand and whips it at Kurayama’s head. Kurayama yelps and, thrown off balance, the gun falls from his hand and skitters across the floor. Mikoto has enough time to tackle him to the ground and pin him there.

The door to the basement bursts open, and Mikoto only sees a sea of blue. 

“Is he conscious?” a familiar voice asks, full of judgment.

“Dunno,” Mikoto says, elbow pressing Kurayma’s body into the floor. His head might be bleeding. “It wasn’t me,” he adds quickly.

Munakata stares at him like he doesn’t believe him. Two of his men cuff Kurayama, and two others grab the guy who’s standing beside Totsuka, looking a little shell-shocked. 

“Are you all right, Totsuka-kun?” Munakata asks. 

Totsuka laughs, and it sounds a little crazed. “I’m fine,” he manages.

“All right,” Munakata says, and it doesn’t sound like he believes him, either. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

They follow Munakata out of the basement and into the cold night air. The wind whips around them and Totsuka shivers, so Mikoto shrugs off his coat and wraps it around Totsuka’s shoulders. “I’m fine,” Totsuka argues, but Mikoto just gives him a look. 

“Shut up,” he says quietly. 

Totsuka nods somberly, clutching at the jacket, but then he giggles.

“What?”

“I threw a beer bottle at his head,” Totsuka says incredulously.

“Was a good shot,” Mikoto says. “It was... kind of hot.”

Totsuka laughs. “When I was a kid, I played--” 

Mikoto cuts him off with a kiss. It’s probably inappropriate to shove his tongue down Totsuka’s throat in the middle of a veritable crime scene, but he does anyway, until he’s tasted every inch of Totsuka’s mouth. Totsuka is smiling when they part, tilting his head to where Kusanagi is watching them in horror. He’s with Munakata and another officer, a woman, who looks just as unimpressed as Munakata.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Munakata says dryly, “but I need Totsuka-kun to come to the station. I need to discuss a few things regarding tonight, and we should discuss the first assault as well.”

“Okay,” Totsuka says, suddenly sounding exhausted.

“I’m coming, too,” Mikoto says.

“There’s no need,” Munakata says, eyes narrowing. “I only need to speak with Totsuka-kun.”

“Then I’ll wait outside.”

Munakata sighs. “Fine. Let’s go, then.”

Mikoto turns to Kusanagi. “I’ll be back in a while. Let Honami know it’s over, yeah?”

“Okay, but Mikoto…” Kusanagi has a million questions on the tip of his tongue, Mikoto can tell, but he just shakes his head. “I’ll see you later, then.” He refocuses his gaze on Munakata’s agent. “It was nice to meet you, Seri-chan,” he croons. She gives him a dirty look that will, if Mikoto knows Kusanagi, just make him even more eager to chase her.

Mikoto slides into the back of Munakata’s police cruiser beside Totsuka. He can’t help but think of being back here in a totally different context, and when he meets Munakata’s frowning face in the rearview mirror, he can tell Munakata is thinking the same thing. But then Totsuka leans against him, his eyes drooping sleepily, and Mikoto thinks about how much things have changed.

When they get into the police station, Munakata stops him at the reception. “Please wait here,” he says tersely. “Try not to cause a scene.”

“Whatever,” Mikoto scoffs, slumping onto a chair, crossing his arms.

To pass the time, Mikoto checks his phone. He finds a text from Kamamoto, confirming that he and Yata had gotten Honami and Anna home safely. He feels some of the tension bleed out of his body at that, knowing that all this is over and Anna is safe. 

He closes his eyes and manages to drift off a bit, until a stern voice returns, clearing his throat. 

Mikoto opens one eye. “Done?” he asks.

Totsuka nods.

“Though I do have one question for you, Suoh, since Totsuka-kun didn’t seem to know the answer,” Munakata says. “Off the record, of course.”   
  
“What?” Mikoto asks suspiciously. 

“Who hacked into our system?”

Mikoto freezes. He doesn’t like Fushimi, but he’s not about to rat the kid out. 

Munakata chuckles at Mikoto’s hesitation. “He’s not in any sort of trouble,” Munakata clarifies. “I was merely curious. We could learn a lot from someone like that.”

Mikoto glances up at Totuska, who gives a little nod. “Fushimi,” Mikoto says. “The kid with the glasses. He was there when you came to Homra.”

“I see,” Munakata says. “That will be all, Totsuka-kun. I hope I don’t see you both for a very, very long time.”

Mikoto snorts. “Same here.”

“Thank you, Munakata-san,” Totsuka says politely. 

They take a cab back to Totsuka’s place, because Totsuka’s too tired to walk. Mikoto pays the driver when they arrive, and Totsuka waggles his eyebrows. “Shut up,” Mikoto whispers. “I’d rather walk home.”

Totsuka shrugs off Mikoto’s coat when he gets to the front door. “Thanks,” he says, handing it back to Mikoto with a smile. They stare at each other for a moment, and Mikoto thinks that maybe Totsuka is going to kiss him, but instead he wraps his arms around Mikoto’s waist and learns his face into Mikoto’s chest. “I’m gonna sleep for twelve hours,” Totsuka says into his shirt. “And I’ll talk to you after that.”

“Okay,” Mikoto says, hesitantly resting his chin on the top of Totsuka’s head as he returns the hug. They part, and Mikoto puts his coat back on for the walk home. 

“Hey,” Totsuka calls from the doorway, and Mikoto turns back around to look at him.

“What?”   
  
“I told you everything would be okay,” Totsuka says, and Mikoto doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the shape of Totsuka’s smile.

“Shut up,” Mikoto says, and there’s no hiding the absolute fondness in his words.

  
  
  
  
  


By the time he gets back to Homra, the last patron is long gone. Kusanagi looks up at the door when it jangles open, and he frowns. He doesn’t look mad, exactly, just unusually serious. Tired, too.

“Sit,” Kusanagi says, pointing at Mikoto’s usual spot at the bar.

He feels like he’s being scolded.

“Do you want a beer?” Kusanagi asks, voice still stern even in his peace offering. 

Mikoto stares down at the bottle Kusanagi slides in front of him and snorts once, twice, and it devolves into a quiet chuckle.

Kusanagi stares at him like he’s insane. 

Maybe he is.

“Mikoto,” Kusanagi says, “I think you need to tell me what the fuck happened.”   
  
Mikoto snickers, pulling out two cigarettes. “Where should I start?” He offers one to Kusanagi.

“From the beginning,” Kusanagi says, pushing the cigarette between his lips.


	8. epilogue: living beyond anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and for every kudos and comment. I love this ship, and I love writing for them, and I hope you've enjoyed the story as much as I've enjoyed writing it.
> 
> See you next time <3
> 
> (Also, please note the rating bump to E!)

“I think that’s about all the time we have for today, guys,” Totsuka says, looking at his watch for confirmation. “Sorry, Yata. You wanted to say something.”   
  
“That’s okay, Totsuka-san,” Yata replies. “I’ll save it for another time.”

Totsuka smiles, eyes seeking out Mikoto in their circle of chairs. “And with that, someone here has finished their time with us. Congratulations, Suoh-san.” Totsuka claps, and the rest of the guys follow, the scattered applause echoing in the large, empty hall. 

Mikoto frowns at them all, wanting it to stop  _ immediately _ .

“And you know, you can always attend a meeting if you need to, even if it’s not to complete a program,” Totsuka reminds him, totally sincere even as his eyes sparkle with mischief. 

“No, thanks,” Mikoto says dryly. “I’m good.”

“Aren’t you going to miss us, Mikoto-san?” Yata teases, and Mikoto gives him a flat look.

He sees Yata almost every damn day.

“Think I’ll survive,” Mikoto mutters, and everyone chuckles.

Their group has dwindled somewhat in these past weeks; Fushimi is absent since he has finished his own hours, though that didn’t particularly affect the dynamic of the group since he was never really one to talk much. Yata has technically completed his own requirements, too, but he had still shown up this week, muttering something about how it helped him de-stress. Mikoto would wonder about Yata being too attached to the group, or to Totsuka himself, except he’s not really in a position to judge. Eric is still here, too, far less gloomy after all the shit that went down with Kurayama.

A new guy has joined them, too, another fucker with glasses, referred to Totsuka by Munakata, of all people. Mikoto doesn’t even remember the guy’s name, having been too distracted by the thought that this is his last session to pay attention to anything anyone said. Probably not the best way to end the whole therapy thing, but what can he do?

“Yata, are you okay to take care of cleaning up tonight?” Totsuka asks as the circle disbands. “We have to fill out some paperwork at the office.”

“Sure,” Yata replies, helpful as always. “I’ll see you later tonight, Mikoto-san!” 

_ Hopefully not, _ Mikoto thinks, and he wonders when he’d become so totally transparent when Totsuka gives him a small, private smile. 

“Have a good week, everyone,” Totsuka says, and then they’re off, crossing the street to head to the clinic. 

As they exit the old elevator on Totsuka’s floor, Mikoto looks around the familiar office. It feels like a lifetime ago since he was last here.

“Good evening Aikawa-san,” Totsuka greets warmly as they approach reception. “You’re here late.” 

It’s the usual receptionist, Mikoto notes. 

He finally knows her name. 

She smiles up at Totsuka to return his greeting, and then her eyes widen in surprise when she spots Mikoto. “I… I’m just finishing up,” she says meekly.

“We just have some discharge paperwork to fill out,” Totsuka explains, opening the door of his office for Mikoto. “Suoh-san here has completed his program!”

With how he had stormed out of Totsuka’s office that one time, and then never shown up again, it’s no surprise that she’s looking at him so wearily. “I see,” she says, hesitating. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Mikoto says dryly.

Totsuka shuts his office door behind him before he starts digging through a filing cabinet, and pulls out a folder. Mikoto watches him lean against his desk and start checking boxes and filling in dates on a bunch of papers. He hands Mikoto a pen. “Okay, I need you to sign here, here, and here,” he says, pointing to blank lines on the document. Mikoto scribbles his name, and Totsuka follows suit, signing his name beside. He shuffles the papers into a neat pile and places them back into the folder. “Congratulations, Suoh Mikoto-san,” Totsuka says, smiling up at Mikoto. “You are no longer my patient!”

“Thank fuck,” Mikoto murmurs, and then he’s leaning down to kiss Totsuka. Totsuka gasps against his mouth, and Mikoto takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

“Wait,” Totsuka pants, pulling away slightly. “Aikawa-san is still here.”

“So?” Mikoto rasps. They’re no longer bound by any therapist-patient rules, and that’s good enough for him.

As if summoned by Totsuka’s words, there’s a knock at the door. “Totsuka-kun?” Aikawa calls from the other side of the door. “I’m going now. Please remember to lock up!”

“I will,” Totsuka calls back, voice impressively steady, even as Mikoto pins him to the desk with his hips. “Have a good night, Aikawa-san.”

When her footsteps recede, Mikoto gets back to work taking Totsuka’s mouth, squeezing his hips with intent. “Ah,” Totsuka gasps, pulling away again, so Mikoto trails his mouth to the side, biting and licking at Totsuka’s neck. “Wouldn’t you rather… ah… go back to my place?” 

“No,” Mikoto says bluntly, because frankly, he’s tired of waiting.

Totsuka snickers, and Mikoto finally pulls away to look at him questioningly. “Is this a kink thing for you?” Totsuka asks, grinning.

“Hah? No.” Maybe Mikoto’s imagined fucking Totsuka on his desk or something, but that’s because he’s had lots of time to imagine fucking Totsuka in lots of places, not because there’s anything particularly sexy about his office.

Totsuka’s grin softens into something more polite as his eyes dance playfully, pushing at Mikoto’s chest to nudge him backwards. “Good evening, Suoh-san,” he says, voice dropping into a phony, overly formal tone. “If you’d like to take a seat on the couch, we can get started.”

“Oi,” Mikoto warns, suddenly hot all over.

“Interesting,” Totsuka whispers mischievously. He keeps pushing Mikoto back, until Mikoto’s plopping down on the familiar couch. 

Then he drops to his knees between Mikoto’s legs, hands on Mikoto’s thighs.

“Fuck,” Mikoto rasps, heart pounding.

“I have a new relaxation technique I’d like to try with you,” Totsuka says smoothly, still playing the part. Reaching to unbuckle Mikoto’s belt, he blinks up at Mikoto innocently. “Can I?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Totsuka,” Mikoto groans. 

Taking that as agreement, Totsuka unbuttons his jeans and pulls out his cock, stroking gently. He’s already hard, and Totsuka’s eyes darken as he focuses on Mikoto’s erection, tongue peeking out to wet his lips. 

Mikoto’s brain short-circuits at the first touch of Totsuka’s tongue on his cock. He licks at it slowly, almost experimentally, and Mikoto moans at the tortuous teasing. Totsuka takes the head of his cock into his mouth, and it’s good,  _ so good,  _ but not nearly enough. He’s trembling with the desire to thrust into that wet heat, to fuck Totsuka’s mouth, and unthinking, he fists his hands into Totsuka’s hair. Totsuka moans in surprise, pupils blown wide when he looks up at Mikoto. Intrigued by that reaction, Mikoto tightens his grip, tugging a little more roughly. Totsuka lets out a whine that goes straight to Mikoto’s dick and then he’s taking him all the way in.

Mikoto doesn’t last long; how could he, with how long they’ve waited and how good Totsuka looks with his lips wrapped around him. “Fuck,” Mikoto groans in warning, pulling on Totsuka’s hair as he comes. Totsuka takes him in deeper, swallowing everything down the best he can. 

Mikoto’s heart stutters in his chest when Totsuka pulls off of his cock and looks up at him, breathing hard, lips red and slick, Mikoto’s come leaking from the corner of his mouth. Leaning forward, Mikoto wipes gently at the mess with his thumb and then pushes it into his mouth. Totsuka sucks on it greedily, like he hasn’t had enough. “Shit,” Mikoto breathes, transfixed by the sight of him.

He pulls Totsuka into his lap. Their kissing is messy and wet, and he can taste himself on Totsuka’s tongue. His hands trail down Totsuka’s body and he can feel Totsuka’s erection straining against his jeans, so he yanks open Totsuka’s jeans and wraps a hand around his cock, stroking roughly. Totsuka moans, throwing his head back, bucking into Mikoto’s hand.

Mikoto feels like he could come again just from watching Totsuka fall apart on his lap, mouth open, eyes hazy with pleasure, like Mikoto’s hand on his dick is the best thing he’s ever felt.

Totsuka doesn’t last long either; it only takes a few rough twists of Mikoto’s wrist before he’s spilling into Mikoto’s hand. Totsuka collapses against him for a moment, catching his breath, lips grazing Mikoto’s forehead. Then he leans over to grab the box of tissues from the side table, offering it to Mikoto. Mikoto takes a couple to wipe up the sticky mess on his hand.

“That’s the first time you’ve needed those,” Totsuka remarks, voice raspy. 

Mikoto chuckles. “I do feel more relaxed, I guess.”

“I’m glad I could help, Suoh-san,” Totsuka says softly, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to the corner of Mikoto’s mouth. He grins, the last traces of his fake therapist act dropped. “Does that mean you’re done, or are you coming back to my place?” 

“Let’s go,” Mikoto says, maybe too quickly, judging by the sound of Totsuka’s laughter pressed into his cheek. 

  
  


🔥

  
  


Mikoto sleeps in late on Saturday, tired from a busy Friday night at the bar, and from barely getting any sleep at Totsuka’s the night before that. By the time he makes his lazy descent down the stairs, it’s well into the afternoon. He only makes it to the last step when he’s met with Yata’s horrified face. 

“Mikoto-san!” he says, glancing behind him. “You can’t come down here yet!”

“Huh?” Mikoto freezes, groggy mind trying to process why Yata has trapped him on the stairs. 

“You can’t come down yet,” Yata says again, like it’s some sort of explanation. 

Mikoto’s vaguely aware of the fact that Yata is half his size, and that he could probably grab him by the collar of his shirt and move him out the way. But that sounds like a lot of work, and he’s still too sleepy, so he sighs and turns to head back upstairs. 

He sprawls out on the couch and turns on the TV, just for some background noise. He pulls out his phone to send Kusanagi a message, ignoring the low battery warning. 

_???????  _ he writes.

Kusanagi, the bastard, just replies with  _ lol. _

Mikoto is content to waste time dozing on the couch, and taking a long hot shower. He’s towel-drying his hair when there’s a knock on his apartment door. “Mikoto-san,” Yata calls out. “You can come down now.”

Mikoto is almost afraid to go downstairs, if whatever’s happening down there has Kusanagi laughing at him.

When he finally makes it down, he sees why. 

“You guys are idiots,” he says to the crowd of people staring at him, grimacing, as a series of  party poppers are launched at him.

CONGRATULATIONS, reads the banner draped across the back wall of the bar.

Yata is grinning, holding Anna’s hand, who is smiling serenely in the midst of all the chaos. Kamamoto’s on her other side, laughing happily. Kusanagi and Totsuka are whispering conspiratorially, their shit-eating grins confirming that they know exactly how much Mikoto hates this. Fushimi’s there, too, sulking in a corner, which is exactly what Mikoto would have expected. The other guys from group are there, too: Eric and Fujishima, Bandou, and the new guy. 

It’s almost like their gathering a few weeks ago, except without the fear of Kurayama looming over them.

“Was this your idea?” Mikoto asks Totsuka, glaring. It’s got his name written all over it.

“Wasn’t me,” Totsuka says, raising his hands innocently. He tilts his head towards Yata, who’s looking pointedly away. 

“I just thought it would be fun to have a party,” Yata mutters, cheeks red in a rare blush. Mikoto’s only seen him blush in front of Honami, or while serving girls at the bar. 

Mikoto sighs. “It’s fine,” he says. As long as he gets to drink tonight, it doesn’t really matter if it’s in his honor or not.

Kusanagi passes out a round of drinks, and everybody raises their glass. “Uh, to completing the terms of your arrest and avoiding jail time,” he says.

Totsuka chuckles. “And developing healthy coping mechanisms,” he adds with a wink.

“To defeating your enemy!” Yata says.

“To making new friends,” Kamamoto says, hoisting Anna up to sit on his lap, careful not to spill her Shirley Temple. “Is there anything you want to toast to, Anna?”

Anna blinks, looking thoughtful. “To Mikoto,” she says quietly.

The room erupts into cheers, and Mikoto frowns at the lot of them, absolutely refusing to let the rush of fondness he feels show on his face.

As the drinks start flowing, everyone begins to mingle. Totsuka sidles up to Fushimi with a grin. “We’ve missed you at group,” he tells him, and Fushimi rolls his eyes at that even though Mikoto knows Totsuka’s being perfectly sincere. “How’s the new job going?”

“Fine,” Fushimi says.

“How’s Munakata treating you?”

“You’re so nosy,” Fushimi complains, exasperated, but he talks to Totsuka anyways, a few short details about his new position with the Cybersecurity team of the Shizume City Police. Totsuka listens so attentively, even here, outside of the walls of his office. 

Meanwhile, Yata and Kamamoto tell Eric and Fujishima stories about the wildest customers they’ve had at Homra, preparing him for his own upcoming part-time work at the bar. Totsuka had thanked Kusanagi profusely when he’d arranged it, and Kusanagi had warned him with a huff, “I’m not a damn employment agency.” But Mikoto knew it was only a matter of time before Kusanagi became weak to that smile, too.

“Think you’ll be able to handle it?” Fujishima asks Eric with a soft smile, twining their fingers together. 

“If Yata can do it, I think I’ll be fine,” Eric replies bluntly. 

“What’s that supposed to mean, you bastard?” Yata cries out in protest, nearly knocking over his glass of beer. Kamamoto pushes it away from him to avoid a mess, shaking his head fondly.

Fushimi’s eyes are on Yata from across the bar, and Mikoto wonders how much longer it’ll take Yata to realize.

_ Not my problem,  _ Mikoto thinks, taking a sip of his own drink.

He grabs Totsuka on his way out of the bathroom, pulling him into a corner so they can have a moment alone. He’s wearing that cologne of his, and Mikoto leans in to inhale that sweet scent, nose just barely brushing Totsuka’s cheek. 

“Hi,” Totsuka breathes. He looks like he’s having a good time, with his pretty smile and alcohol-flushed cheeks. Mikoto tugs at the high collar of Totsuka’s shirt, warm from the knowledge that he’s wearing it to cover the marks Mikoto had sucked into his neck. 

“Hi,” Mikoto replies, voice low. He slips a finger under Totsuka’s collar, tickling the sensitive skin there. Totsuka sucks in a breath, eyes going dark.

“Oi,” Kusanagi barks when he finds them. “There are children here.” Totsuka chuckles, placing a hand on Mikoto’s chest to push him back, and some of the tension dissipates. “Speaking of,” Kusanagi continues, “Honami’s going to stop by later, to pick Anna up. I told her to bring her boyfriend, since I guess you really weren’t lying when you said you didn’t _care._ ” His eyes slide to Totsuka and they grin at each other.

Mikoto sighs. “You two really didn’t plan this?”   
  
“Nope,” Kusanagi replies. “It was all Yata.”

“I just brought the cake,” Totsuka says. His eyes widen. “Ah, the cake!” He rushes over to the bar to uncover a red frosted cake, the words “Congratulations, Mikoto” written out lovingly in white. It’s also decorated with what looks like an angry stick man figure, and Mikoto can do nothing but chuckle. 

“You made this?” Anna asks in awe, watching Totsuka cut the cake into clean, precise slices. 

“I sure did,” he replies. “Want a piece?” Anna looks up at him thoughtfully for a moment, then nods. Totsuka hands her a plate with a piece of cake that has so much frosting on it that there’s no way she’s going to sleep tonight. 

“Me, too, Totsuka-san!” Yata says. “And Saruhiko, too, even if he says he doesn’t want it! He loves cake.”

“Shut up, Misaki,” Fushimi says, but when Yata slides a piece in front of him, he dips a finger in the frosting to taste. 

Kamamoto hands him a plate with a silent smile, and after a long suffering sigh, Mikoto accepts it. 

Later, he’ll meet Honami’s boyfriend and probably make a terrible first impression. Then he’ll probably be roped into helping clean up after his own party, by Kusanagi’s disapproval glare and Totsuka’s innocent pout. And then, much later, he’ll take Totsuka up to his apartment, into his bed, and they’ll be able to do everything they couldn’t the last time everyone was here like this, cuddled together on an old dusty futon. (And if they’re too tired, or too drunk, there’s always tomorrow, or the day after that, or the day after that.)

(It feels like they have nothing but time.)

For now, though, he quells the heat in his belly the best he can, so he can eat the stupid cake his boyfriend made for him, watching the jagged pieces of his life come together in a way he’d never imagined.


End file.
